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B Y THE SAME A UTHOR 


The Johnson Manor. A Tale of Olden Time in New York. 
i6mo, cloth, $1.25. 

“ It is a clean, healthy, manly story. It introduces its reader into good com- 
pany. Its pathos is genuine, and its feeling honest. There are portions of it 
powerful for dramatic effect and sustained and vigorous writing .” — Church 
Journal, 

“ To the New Yorker, either by present residence or past association, the 
volume will be full of peculiar interest, while the general reader will find in it 
one of the most truthful, and at the same time most attractive pictures ever pre- 
sented of the social life, the tone and temper of the early days of the American 
revolution .” — Detroit Free Press. 


G. P. Putnam’s Sons, New York, 


SIBYL SPENCER 


BY 

JAMES 

THE AUTHOR OF THE 


/ 

KENT 

“JOHNSON manor” 


/ 


“ What’s the plot of every novel? 

What’s the part of every play ? 

What in cottage or in hovel, 

Can drive dull care away? 

What gives her carriage to many a modem trip, 

Making even marriage sometimes a state of bliss, — 
O c’est I’amour I’amour,” etc., etc. 



NEW YORK 

G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS 

182 Fifth Avenue 
1878. 




Copyright, 

1878, 

By G. P, Putnam’s Sons. 


CHAP. 


PAGB. 


CONTENTS. 


I. The Parsonage 

II. Yes, or No 

III. Fast Day 

IV. Seaman’s Rights 
V. Sally’s Choice 

VI. Eph 

VII. War or Peace? 
VIII. A Prisoner 
IX. Mrs. Quincey . 

X. The Appeal 
XL A Quiet Rubber 

XII. The Quid Nuncs 

XIII. Fallen from Grace 

XIV. A Word in Season 

XV. A Lover’s Quarrel 

XVI. The Hudson 
XVII. The Spy . . . 

XVI 11 . The Confession . 
XXIX. Wavering 

XX. The Revenge . 

XXL Life or Death 
XXI 1 . The Reprieve . 
XXIII. The Canny Scott 

XXIV. A Woman’s Estimate 

XXV. Under the Elms 
XXVI. The Vision 
XXVI 1 . Lundy’s Lane . 

Conclusion 


5 

i 6 

28 

40 

51 

62 

75 

84 

98 

109 

119 

132 

143 

156 

169 

180 

191 

201 

21 1 

221 

230 

240 

250 

261 

272 

282 

293 

303 




SIBYL SPENCER. 


CHAPTER I. 

THE PARSONAGE. 

“But most the ancients should engage 
And fire my heart with classic rage, 

Models of style, to nature true 

With boldest art her form they drew.” 

Anonymous. 

HE pious bounty of the founders of the con- 
gregational church at D had endowed it 

with some fifty acres of rich meadow land, 
and had built for their pastor a large square 
house. This house stood directly on the principal street, 
and was separated from the church by the graveyard. 
Neither of the two buildings was painted, and the cypress 
shingles with which their sides were covered, had grown 
gray with age. 

The mossy head-stones in the churchyard, and the 
gigantic elms which overshadowed them, gave an air of 
antiquity uncommon in America. The ground at the rear 
of the parsonage sloped gradually towards a little brook. 
Groups of trees had been allowed to remain, permitting 
vistas of the distant hills, and throwing long shadows, 
pleasant to the eye, on this hot, sultry June morning. 



6 


SIBYL SPENCER. 


The house was divided into four square rooms, two on 
each side of the hall. 

The one on the right, as you entered, was the pastor’s 
study. From floor to ceiling, in every available nook and 
cranny, the walls were clothed with books, not modern, 
gayly-bound and flauntingly-covered volumes, but good, 
honest, dusty, moth-eaten tomes. Ponderous books, which 
must have descended from father to son for several gener- 
ations. Books on controversial divinity, editions of the 
“Fathers,” classics, rare even then, and now almost price- 
less. Bundles of pamphlets, carefully tied, labelled and 
docketed, filled many of the shelves. Possessions which 
would open many a secret of political and social life, now 
closely veiled in the mists of antiquity. 

An enormous fireplace filled up nearly one side of the 
room, and the dogs or fire-irons were curiosities- — they 
were of polished iron, and reached almost to the top of the 
wooden mantel. This was of wood, carved with fruits 
and flowers, interspersed with flutes, and harps and other 
musical instruments in admirable confusion. 

The furniture was scanty. A table, littered with books 
of reference and documents, an old sofa covered with 
horse hair, a few high-backed, uncomfortable chairs, and 
one reading chair, the arm of which supported a desk, was 
all the room contained, except two large globes, in leather 
cases, to preserve them from injury. The occupants were 
an elderly gentleman about seventy years old and a lady, 
several years his junior, evidently husband and wife. The 
man was in the dress of the clergyman of the period. A 
long straight-cut black coat, black silk small-clothes, shoes 
with large silver buckles, and a voluminous white cravat. 


THE PARSONAGE. 


7 


His shirt was ruffled, and he had likewise ruffles at his 
wrists. He was above the middle height, slight in figure. 
His hair was drawn in a queue and powdered, setting off 
his marked and expressive features. His eyes were large 
and dark, singularly mild and soft in their expression, 
but with much sly fun and humor in them, as well as in 
the lines of his handsome mouth. His teeth were beauti- 
fully even and white. 

There was intellectual power in the broad, high fore- 
head, in the prominent nose and firm set jaws. 

Dr. Spencer had sprung from a race of clergymen. 
Father and grandfather had belonged to that profession : 
learned, able and accomplished men. His tastes had been 
scholastic from boyhood. Entering Yale College, he had 
graduated at the head of his class in all branches of study. 

For many years he had remained attached to that in- 
stitution, first in the capacity of tutor, later as professor of 
the dead languages. On the death of his father he had 

been called to fill the pulpit at D . He was the third 

in direct line who had occupied that position. 

On his acceptance of it, the church gained one more 
ornament, and literature suffered an irreparable loss. 

At this period a heresy had broken out in Massachu- 
setts which threatened to spread rapidly over Connecticut. 
To meet this doctrine of “ the Unity,” the Congregational 
Church put forth her mightiest efforts. 

To all her learning, the profundity of her logic, her 
moral ethics, and the revered names of her preachers and 
writers, the strength of the secular arm was added. The 
church could then dispossess her preachers — not only forge 
but launch the thunderbolt. 


8 


SIBYL SPENCER. 


James Spencer’s profound learning, joined to his won- 
derful delivery, placed him at once at the head of Synods 
and Convocations. Moral and intellectual power he never 
hesitated to wield. He could point with untrembling 
finger to theological punishments for heresy and unbelief. 
The hell to which he condemned was the hell of the 
future. But when the verdict had to be rendered which 
would turn on the cold charity of the world the superan- 
nuated minister. Dr. Spencer invariably relented, and the 
bold divine who, the hour before, had fulminated all the 
pains and penalties of spiritual wrath, now voted, argued 
and entreated that the victim might remain, not to suffer, 
but to repent. 

There then existed a remnant of the severe Puritan, 
scattered through New England, and the subordinate 
offices of deacon and elder were generally filled from this 
class. These would glow with spiritual pride at the ability 
and learning, the power and influence which their pastor 
displayed, and which was the theme of universal admira- 
tion ; but it tried the intensity of their love to condone his 
invariable tendency to mercy and loving kindness. 

Mrs. Spencer had been in all respects a suitable match 
in worldly circumstances and social position ; but it was 
a match which had caused unfailing wonder to all his 
friends. 

The lady was naturally gentle and refined, and gifted 
with a fair share of common sense. She was a more than 
ordinarily shrewd and careful manager, and an adept in 
making both ends meet, a most desirable quality in the 
wife of a country clergyman. She was a good house- 
keeper, a first-rate cook, and in trade ” was the equal of 


THE PARSONAGE. 


9 


any New England store-keeper. All these were qualities 
which Mr. Spencer’s friends knew or cared little about. 
To the world at large she was only romantic and silly. 
Proud and attached to her husband, whose intellectual 
p^iwers she appreciated, her chief aim was to bewail the 
retirement in which he was kept, and in so doing, she 
wounded the pride without arousing the sympathy of her 
hearers. To her husband, she was a never-failing source 
of exquisite mental enjoyment. He would sit for hours, 
smiling at her platitudes, and enjoying keenly when she 
was the victim of some small joke, coming, however, gal- 
lantly to the rescue, when it ceased to be of the mildest 
kind. He had a due appreciation of her common sense, 
took her advice and followed it in all their business 
affairs. They had each inherited a small property, which, 
wisely managed and joined to the product of Dr. Spencer’s 
literary efforts, made them for the country and time more 
than comfortable. 

The idol of their hearts was their daughter Sibyl, now 
a young woman of twenty-six. This idolatry was shown 
in a manner characteristic of both. By the father, in the 
mental and literary training which he bestowed upon her ; 
by the mother, in planning and scheming some unusually 
brilliant marriage for her. 

Mrs. Spencer was sitting by the open window, enjoying 
the soft June air, perfumed by the luxuriant climbing rose- 
bush which shaded it. Her attention more directed to 
her husband than to the household work which had fallen 
in her lap. Dr. Spencer, seated by the table, was turning 
over with absorbed interest the leaves of a new book, and 
answering, evidently at random, the uninterrupted string of 


10 


SIBYL SPENCER. 


questions which usually constituted the bulk of his wife’s 
conversation. 

“ Jeems,” — for so the lady always pronounced her hus- 
band’s Christian name — “ Jeems, do you not think it strange 
Mr. Hamilton should remain so long in the parlor alone 
with Sibyl ? How long do you think he has been there ? ” 

“ About thirty years, I should say,” muttered rather 
than spoke the Doctor, catching only the name, and refer- 
ring to the length of a friendship, not the duration of a 
morning visit. 

“ Thirty years ! why Jeems, he came in just after break- 
fast, don’t you remember ? ” 

“ Bless my soul, my dear, what are you talking about ? ” 
answered the Doctor. 

“ Why, Jeems, I was only saying how strange I thought 
it that Mr. Hamilton should spend two hours alone in the 
morning with our Sibyl.” 

“ Well, my dear, what of that ? He often spends the 
whole morning alone with me in this room.” 

“ Do you think it possible he may be going to ask her, 
Doctor ? ” 

“ Ask her ? ask her what ? ” replied the minister now 
fully awakened. 

“ If she will be his wife, of course,” said the lady. 
“Just think, Jeems, she might live in the finest house in 
the country, and go every year to Washington as a senator’s 
wife.” 

“ Tush and fiddlesticks,” answered the other, “ he is 
within fifteen years of being my age ; he has a daughter as 
old as our child.” 

“ Well, what of that, Jeems, would it not be every thing 


THE PARSONAGE. 


1 1 

for Sibyl ? Think of the position she would take, not only 
in the society of this town, but in that of the entire country.” 

“ My dear wife,” said the old minister, rising and lay- 
ing his hand affectionately on her shoulder, “ we have 
wintered and summered it together these thirty years, — 
we commenced life with the same hopes, wishes and pleas- 
ures. Mated in heart as we were in years, we have grown 
old together. Now do not let your foolish match-making 
head run riot with you in planning for your only child what 
will never happen. If Mr. Hamilton should be such a 
fool as to ask our Sibyl to be his wife, I for one shall 
humbly pray God she will say no.” 

He ceased speaking, a step was heard in the hall, the 
door was thrown open, as if the new-comer was sure of 
his welcome, and Edward Mason stood in the room. 

“ My boy, my own boy ! ” exclaimed the Doctor, seizing 
both hands only to relinquish them and fold him in his 
arms. “ What good fortune brought you here ? ” 

The old man’s eyes glistened with pleasure, nor was 
his wife backward in the warmth of her greeting. Edward 
kissed the cheek she offered, but turned to grasp again, 
and again, the hands the Doctor was never tired of ex- 
tending. 

“ Come, come, unbuckle your news bag” — he dragged, 
as he spoke, a low chair from a corner, and placed it by 
his own. 

“ Here, sit in your old seat. Now, what news do you 
bring? When did you get here? How are you succeed- 
ing ? Have you forgotten your Greek ? Oh ! what a baby 
I am, T cannot contain myself for pleasure. Mother, 
mother, call Sibyl.” 


12 


SIBYL SPENCER. 


‘‘ My daughter is at this moment engaged,” said the 
lady, bridling a little as she spoke. “ She is receiving the 
distinguished Mr. Hamilton.” 

The Doctor’s face fell, and an ominous “ Pshaw ! ” ex- 
pressed his discontent ; but the thought was soon forgotten 
in the wild delight of seeing his favorite pupil, for such 
Edward had been, and he pulled a worm-eaten volume 
from the mass of books on the table, its parchment bind- 
ing proclaiming it a classic, and said, 

“ I need not ask you, my dear boy ; you have followed 
my advice, you have given at least three hours daily to the 
‘ Humanities,’ as our Scotch cousins call the classics ? ” 

“ Well, sir,” answered Edward, “ I have not always been 
able to give quite that amount of time to study every day, 
but I always allot some portion to either Greek or Latin.” 

“ Good boy, good boy ! Let us improve the small 
portion of time which a good Providence has given us on 
earth,” continued the Doctor, taking up his leg and nurs- 
ing it tenderly, a happy smile beaming on his face. “ It 
was only this morning, before the heat and labor of the 
day, that my thoughts were carried back to you. Yes, 
yes. I was idly turning over the tenth Satire of Juvenal, 
and I was led to compare the metrical version of the two 
translations of Hodgson and Gilford, and I uttered aloud 
the wish to have you once more here, that we might enjoy 
the rich intellectual feast in scholarly company.” 

I think, sir,” said Edward, “ you always gave the palm 
to Mr. Gilford.” 

“ I did, I did,” said the Doctor, “ although there are 
defects in both. How, indeed, must an ear well instructed 
miss the mighty roll of the hexameters ! And then the 


THE PARSONAGE. 


13 


barrenness of the translation, compared with the vigor, 
the simplicity, one might almost say, the savage condensa- 
tion, of the original.” 

“ You never were fond of the paraphrase of Doctor 
Johnson,” said Edward. 

“ In a certain sense, my son, in a certain sense I was,” 
answered the Doctor. “ But the word you used so cor- 
rectly, ‘paraphrase,’ expresses fully my opinion; ‘an ex- 
planation in many words,’ as the Lexicographer himself 
renders the syllable. Now the great power of the Roman 
satirist lies in his condensation. We will construe any 
portion taken at random. Not that we shall be able in this 
hasty way to arrive at any correct estimate of the poet. 
Leaving for our future study to enter more at large.” 

The Doctor had gotten thus far in his literary disqui- 
sition, when his wife, who fretted visibly at the turn the 
conversation had taken, interrupted him by saying, 

“ Jeems, have you prepared your discourse for to-mor- 
row? You know much will be expected of you, and as 
there will be several distinguished strangers present, I 
hope you will convince them, that although you are buried 
in this little country town, you do not always idle away 
your time in this manner.” 

The Doctor turned a quizzical glance first on his wife, 
and then on his young friend, who was well used to these 
little scenes. 

“ Few men in my profession, Edward, are blessed with 
such a helpmeet, not only by the domestic fireside, but in 
the labors of the pulpit. But she is right, I must devote 
the short hour which remains, before the mid-day meal, to 
revising the few remarks which this occasion of fasting 


14 


SIBYL SPENCER. 


and prayer presents. I wish to show my flock the dangers 
to which rash resistance to even bad governments may 
lead.” 

“ My long absence, dear sir, has prevented me from 
acquiring a knowledge of the temper of the people. Can 
it be possible that so dangerous a crisis is at hand as your 
words would imply ? ” 

“ Dear boy, the very principles of free government are 
at stake. The ‘ Habeas Corpus ’ is about to be suspended. 
Military law, and a thousand little acts heretofore known 
only to the rule of kings, are being forced upon us. Per- 
haps the men of Connecticut would have allowed even 
these to pass unnoticed, had it not been for this attempt 
to force the militia into the ranks of the regular army.” 

“ But only as I understand, sir, to garrison the forts 
and batteries of our harbors.” 

“Vain excuse. Would they have separated the sol- 
diers from the officers to accomplish such an object only ? 
When Israel of old went forth to war, the tribes mustered 
under the command of their Captains, of fifties, of hun- 
dreds and of thousands. Have not our fathers set up 
here, in the wilderness, a purer and a holier Israel, built 
on the new covenant ? Did not even I, weak vessel of clay 
that I am, bear my part in the company of that goodly 
man Captain Hezekiah Goodrich ? But I sin, I sin, words 
of wrath and hate befit not the sacred garb I wear.” 

The old man rose from his chair and walked several 
times up and down the room, his lips moving as if in 
silent prayer. He stopped at length in front of Edward, 
and said in a voice which quivered slightly, 

“ Edward Mason, thy father was unto me even as Jon- 


THE PARSONAGE. 


15 


athan was unto the son of Jesse. His last breath bade 
me make thee a good man. In religion, in politics, in 
learning, I have fully endeavored to carry out the charge. 
The sages who built the constitution suffered many things 
they liked not to enter therein, to obtain the one grand 
object in view, ‘ a united nation.’ Though we be lashed 
with scorpions, yet will I speak unto them words of mercy 
and loving kindness. Go, my son. It disturbs me. Find 
Sibyl and play together as of old.” 

“ Yet stay,” for Edward had already turned towards the 
door. 

“ Forget not, dear boy, to treasure up the waifs and 
strays (if I may so express the idea) which are cast up on 
the shores of the great ocean of human thought. It is 
only in simple pleasures true happiness is found. The 
excitement of the world, its gaudy pomps and shows, fade 
like the lilies of the field. Cultivate, my boy, simple 
tastes, love of nature, love for your fellow-man, and above 
all, love of books. Remember what our favorite author 
says : 

“ Inaudibly the foot of time steals swiftly by, 

And ere we dream of manhood age is nigh.” 



CHAPTER II. 


YES, OR NO. 

“ Where did love come from ? 
It came unsought, unsent — 
Where did love go to ? 

It was not love that went.” 


h 


Old Song. 



IBYL SPENCER was in her twenty-sixth year, 
hardly above the middle height, slight and 
graceful in figure. She had inherited her 
father’s deep brown eyes, soft and full, as well 
as his flexible mouth. The masses of rich brown hair, 
twisted as we see it in some Greek statues, seemed too 
heavy for the slender throat. The magic which she ex- 
ercised was that of manner. No matter in what society 
or with what class of people she mingled, no one could 
resist its inexpressible attractiveness. To this charm, so 
rare, was added an education such as few women possess. 
Her father, urged by his passion for teaching and love of 
study, had devoted himself to the instruction of his only 
child. Naturally quick, and with a retentive memory, she 
became not only mistress of the literature of several mod- 
ern languages, but a thorough classical scholar as well. 


As she stood in the old-fashioned drawing-room. 


on 


that bright summer morning, her pale intellectual face, 
with only a tinge of color in the cheeks, lit up by the soul 



YES, OR NO. 


17 


\ 


which shone in her eyes, busying herself in arranging in a 
quaint old flower-stand the wealth of June’s roses, she 
formed an object of most intense interest to a man just 
passing beyond the prime of life. 

Mr. Arthur Hamilton was considered not only in his 
native State, but throughout the whole country, as a re- 
markable man. His family was one of the very best, his 
fortune perhaps the largest, his abilities of the highest 
order among his contemporaries. All these combined to 
make him the most prominent representative man in the 
State of Connecticut. He had been for many years a mem- 
ber of Congress. Private affairs had induced him to re- 
tire from the Senate, and the loss of no one member could 
have caused more regret to the Federal party, of which 
through life he had been a consistent and ardent adherent. 
Fie still was a very handsome man, his eyes were bright, 
his hair thick and curly, and only sprinkled with gray, and 
his complexion fresh and vigorous. In figure he was tall 
and powerful, inclining rather to what might be termed 
portly. He dressed well, and his air, manners, and ap- 
pearance were always those of a gentleman. Although he 
was past fifty, Mrs. Spencer might be pardoned if she clung 
to the hope of seeing her adored Sibyl the lady magnate of 
the State. 

It was the determination of bringing the half-concealed 
courtship of years to a conclusion that had induced Mr. 
Hamilton to make some rare flowers his excuse for this 
morning’s visit. Let no man, no matter what may be his 
age, station or abilities, flatter himself he can conceal his 
feelings from the quick eye of a woman. Nor, if she does 
not wish the offer, will any mistake of hers pave the way. 

2 


SIBYL SPENCER. 


or make this most terrible ordeal one whit the more easy. 
The opportunity may be just what he wishes. They 
are alone, safe from intrusion j he has shown the most 
adroit skill in preparing for the fatal word ; but that word, 
and the woman knows as well as he does when he is about 
to utter it, must be spoken with pain and suffering. 

Mr. Hamilton had never told Sibyl that he loved her. 
He was an old and attached friend of her father’s. He 
had held her on his knee a hundred times, had made her 
presents ten times as costly as the flowers he now brought, 
but the instant his hand touched the garden gate, Sibyl’s 
quick woman’s instinct told her the dreaded moment had 
come. She might postpone it for a time, but that morn- 
ing must decide whether wealth, high position, a place in 
the gay world, could buy a heart which belonged to an- 
other, or should she try and turn an elderly but most 
devoted lover, into a constant friend. 

Knowing these things so well, can we wonder if Sibyl 
postponed, by a hundred little winning ways, the disagree- 
able moment when she must say no ! when that no must 
mortify the feelings and wound the heart of a man she had 
been accustomed to admire, to respect, and to love from 
childhood. To love, did I say ? Yes, but not with the love 
for which he asked. Yet why should not her affections 
be won in time by one who, although no word of love had 
ever passed his lips, she knew worshipped the very ground 
on which she trod. It was not the mere difference in asre, 
for Sibyl was old for her years. 

The half-seclusion in which she had lived, the constant 
companionship of her father, the very course of education 
which had been pursued, had tended to develop into 


YES, OR NO. 


19 


maturity a mind appreciative and high strung, and, to a 
certain extent, poetic in its nature. Possessed of all the re- 
quirements, she did not covet the superabundance of wealth. 

Mr. Hamilton entered into the contest heavily weight- 
ed. Who was his rival ? 

Edward Mason was the son of the close, intimate col- 
lege friend of Dr. Spencer. They had shared the same 
rooms, had the same tastes, and were unto one another as 
brothers. 

Edward was his youngest child. It seemed to the 
father as if the others were only born to die. The broken- 
hearted parent saw one by one, son and daughter, de- 
scend into the grave, followed by their mother, until Ed- 
ward was left, the last of his family. On his death-bed 
he confided him to the care of his friend, his only charge 
being — “Make him, if you can, a man like yourself.” 

Dr. Spencer gladly assumed the duty, and Edward was 
treated and loved as his own son. He became Sibyl’s 
companion.- She shared his studies, his sports, and his 
short-lived sorrows. 

Edward’s singular ability made him acquire learning 
with a rapidity which seemed like inspiration. After pass- 
ing through Yal^ College, taking every honor, at once the 
admiration and envy of his classmates, he entered a law 
office in New York — one of those cadets of fortune New 
England annually sends out, the most valuable of her ex- 
ports. 

Edward had just enough money to keep him from star- 
vation and to prompt him to exertion. In his manner 
there was a self-assurance which in some degree militated 
against his ever becoming a general favorite. His was, 


20 


SIBYL SPENCER. 


however, a generous, high-toned character, keenly alive to 
any injustice and prone to take the opposition on any new 
subject before he understood it, argumentative, and if any 
thing, a little dogmatical. 

Sibyl saw no fault in him. To her he was the adored 
playmate of her childhood, the chosen companion of her 
more mature years. 

He spent all his vacations at the old house, and as he 
grew in years so grew his love for her society. It never 
entered Edward’s imagination to picture Sibyl as belong- 
ing to another. When he had made a home, naturally she 
w^ould fill it. To Sibyl he had as yet never whispered love. 
Was she content ? The sequel will show. 

Mr. Hamilton had seen them grow up together, but 
the long separation, the calm concentrated nature of the 
girl, had checked the growing doubt as to his own success, 
and if it did not stifle the bitter, jealous pain, still it did 
not quench the faint hope he nourished. 

No man, no matter what his age, ever thinks he has 
ceased to be attractive to a woman. He may say so, he 
may disclaim all idea of conquests in the future, but in his 
inmost heart, he still nourishes the belief he can succeed. 

Mr. Hamilton hesitated, faltered ; he commenced the 
topic which was engrossing his thoughts, he stopped, in 
short, he was deeply, truly in love. 

It was provoking to be met at the outset by the calm 
composed manner of his companion. She did not blush, 
she did not become hysterical, on the contrary, her man- 
ner was more gentle and affectionate than ever. She 
shunned the topic, it was but natural, and he was too well 
acquainted with woman’s ways not to know that this argued 
ill for his suit. 


YES, OR NO. 


21 


“ My dear Sibyl,” he said at last, “ I shall not pretend 
at my age to make protestations which would be neither 
dignified nor true. I do not say you are the only woman 
I have ever loved, but I do say, you are the only woman 
who, for years, has had any hold upon my heart. I do not 
ask you, if you love me as I do you, that the difference 
in our years forbids, but I do ask, can you, will you, do 
you care sufficiently for me to be my wife ? ” 

It is always the same — we con over the subject, we 
select the best chosen words to clothe the most appropri- 
ate ideas, and invariably when the moment comes, it is, 
can you ? will you ? do you ? 

They had entered the house as Mr. Hamilton uttered 
these words. Sibyl turned into the parlor, and stood rest- ‘ 
ing her burden of flowers on the table. All passion had 
left his face, the few moment’s pause had restored the 
calm air and manner of the man of the world. 

Sibyl looked at him, and the thought crossed her mind, 
he looked so noble in air and bearing — how well some 
other woman could love him. She paused so long, before 
her reply, that he continued : 

“ Should you wish time for reflection or to consult your 
parents, do not consider me. My feelings for you will 
never change, and time will be, I fear, my only advocate.” 
He uttered the last few words with perhaps a tinge of 
bitterness. 

“ I need no time,” said Sibyl, her voice sweet and lowj 
“ my only delay in answering came from my unwillingness 
to pain one whom I respect and love as much as I do 
you.” 

“ Then Sibyl, why pain me ? I am not as romantic as 


22 


SIBYL SPENCER. 


I was at twenty. I only ask for what you say you can 
give, respect, and a certain amount of love.” 

“ I do both respect and love you,” the girl said; “ but 
it is not with the love you crave. My father is growing an 
old man.” 

“ Hush, hush ! ” said Mr. Hamilton, do not strive to 
find excuses, your true, pure nature would not willingly 
permit you to invent.” As he was speaking, over neck 
and face rushed the warm blood, the heart gave one great 
throb, and then appeared to stand still, and Sibyl, pale and 
trembling, sank into a chair. 

Mr. Hamilton, seriously alarmed, rushed forward. 
“ My child, nothing I have said or done — ” 

Sibyl had recovered herself. She had heard what he 
had not, a quick, bold step, one word uttered by a voice. 

“ It is nothing, only a momentary pain,” she said with 
her gentle smile. “ With you, Mr. Hamilton, until this 
hour, there has never been associated any thing but kind- 
ness and affection. But do not deceive yourself,” for he 
had started forward as if to interrupt her. “ I can never 
be your wife.” 

He turned and walked slowly towards the window, and 
stood there for some minute^ looking at the great elms 
which shadowed the street. He felt as if their shadows 
were cast upon his own heart. 

Sibyl sat still at the far end of the room. Her body 
quivering in every fibre, her fingers nervously twining 
themselves together. What had happened ? what had 
brought him home so unexpectedly ? She always thought 
of it as his home. If he should come in and find them 
together, what would he think ? Should her companion’s 


YES, OR NO. 


23 


composure betray nothing, she knew her own face, alter- 
nately ghastly pale and then burning red, would only too 
truly tell the tale. Would he care ? How little she knew 
man’s nature ! This love of Edward’s might go on for 
years, but let another offer to take for himself this neg- 
lected pearl, oh ! how he would prize it. 

This silence might have lasted some minutes, neither 
was aware of the lapse of time, when Mr. Hamilton turned, 
and in a voice, the composed sadness of which was touch- 
ing, asked, 

“ Is there no hope ? ” 

“None,” said Sibyl gently, but firmly. 

“ I do not wish to pain you,” he said, “ but may I ask 
one question ?” “ Is there,” he stopped, the girl flushed to 
grow pale immediately, “ I have no right to ask it, I know.” 

She broke in impetuously. 

“ You have every right to ask any question which true 
friendship or kindness may dictate. I will not pretend to 
ignore your meaning. Mr. Hamilton, I love another. Be 
generous, be my friend, my true friend, you can never be 
any thing more,” and she extended her hand as she spoke. 

There was a great big nobleness of heart in the man, 
which in a peasant would have won our respect. As it 
was here, joined to manners as courtly as was the fashion 
of the day, Sibyl would have been more than human, had 
not the knowledge of what she had cast away flashed for 
one second across her mind. 

He took her extended hand in both of his. 

“ Let the conversation of this morning pass from your 
memory, and let me be only the familiar friend of a girl 
young enough to be my daughter.” 


24 


SIBYL SPENCER. 


Sibyl laid her other hand on his. 

“ Oh ! Mr. Hamilton, you are so noble, so kind, you 
will—” 

He interrupted her, “ May God bless you ! There is 
not on this earth the thing Arthur Hamilton can do, to 
make either you or the man you love happy, which shall 
willingly be left undone.” 

He kissed the hand he still held and she was alone. 
She turned towards the window, and stood looking dream- 
ily, sadly into the green shade. Hers was a loving nature. 
She delighted in giving pleasure, and drank in great 
draughts to herself in the happiness of others. Now, for 
almost the first time in her still short life, she had made 
her old, her best friend suffer. She knew the calm con- 
centrated nature of the man she had refused. There was 
no acting, no child’s play in the deep voice, in the slight 
quiver of the lips. The wound she had inflicted was life- 
long. As she stood thus, half dreaming, half reproaching 
herself for what was after all not her fault, two hands were 
placed over her eyes, and she was dragged gently into the 
middle of the room. A merry laugh rang in her ears. 

It needed not the “ Sibyl, Sibyl ! I’ve caught you,” 
to bring back the happy days of yore. 

She turned, only to be kissed warmly on each cheek. 

“ How well you look, prettier than ever, I declare. I 
need only go away and you grow younger and prettier each 
day.” 

“ Dear Edward, how glad I am to see you. I heard 
your step in the hall.” 

“You heard me, and you never came out to welcome 
me, Oh ! Sibyl.” 


YES, OR NO. , 25 

“ How could I, dear, Mr. Hamilton was here with 
me.” 

“ Well, what if he were ? It is not the first time he 
has spent a morning in the house. Nor have you always 
been so particular. What blushing ! Why, Sibyl, was the 
old man making love ” 

“ What nonsense you talk,” said the conscious girl. 
“ How are you ? What brought you home ? I have a 
hundred questions to ask.” 

“ So have I,” answered Edward, “ and one which 
claims the pre-eminence. What was Mr. Hamilton talk- 
ing to you about ?” His face grew stern, and his voice 
altered in its expression. Sibyl knew not why, but a slight 
feeling of awe passed over her. He was her master. 

She tried to laugh it off, her cheeks all crimson, and 
in her sweet playful way she covered his mouth with her 
little hand. No woman, no true woman, ever tells of her 
lovers. She buries them in the deep of her heart. 

“ No,” he said, kissing the hand until she took it 
away. 

“That won’t do. I will know. What did he say? 
What ! no answer. Did he ask you to be his wife ? Sibyl 
tell me, is it not so ? ” 

“ No, no,” said the blushing girl, turning away, “ you 
are mistaken.” 

He caught her, perhaps not altogether reluctant, and 
placing both arms round her waist, he looked her straight 
in the face. 

“ You asked me what brought me home. Shall I tell 
you ? Do not struggle ; if I stop now, I shall be dumb for- 
ever. I passed one night in New York — such a night. 


26 


SIBYL SPENCER. 


You came before me in my dreams. I saw you ; you 
beckoned to me, — and then a voice whispered in my ear — 
I hear it even now, — ‘ Stay away, and she is lost to you for- 
ever ! ’ Shall I go on ? ” 

Sibyl had ceased to struggle indeed the slight effort 
she made to escape from his grasp hardly deserved the 
name of struggling. Her eyes were cast upon the ground, 
her cheeks burned like fire. Her silence gave consent. 
He continued^ — 

“ Have I come too late ? Has the love which lias 
grown from childhood gone forever? Must I hope no 
longer, Sibyl, that you will be mine ? ” 

No answer came. The thought that he had lost her 
made him tremble. His words choked him. He never 
knew until this moment how dearly, how madly he loved 
her. 

“ Answer me ; for God’s sake, answer me ! ” 

“ What do you want me to say ? ” said Sibyl. 

“ Tell me that you love me.” 

“You know I do.” 

The answer came so tremulously, it hardly broke the 
stillness of the room. 

“Then say so; say so at once. Will you ^ be my 
wife ? ” 

The soft eyes looked up into his, guileless and true. 
The slight form drew a trifle closer, and the sweet voice, 
this time clear as a marriage bell, 

“ I will.” 

“ At this moment the half-closed door was pushed open, 
and the old Doctor, his spectacles on his nose, came in. 
He had a book in his hand, and was so absorbed, that he 


1 


YES, OR NO. 


27 


was guided more by instinct than by his senses. He had 
heard the faint sound of voices, and had followed it, 
talking as he came, and he had reached the nliddle of the 
room before he took in the scene. 

“ Dear boy, I intended calling your attention to a 
plagiarism in Juvenal’s fifth Satire, taken from one of 
‘ Ovid’s Metamorphoses,’ or I am wrong in my construc- 
tion.” 

He had gotten so far in his sentence when he stopped, 
pushed his spectacles up on his forehead, and looked first 
at one then at the other. 

Sibyl hid her face on Edward’s shoulder, who, painfully 
embarrassed, still kept his arm around her waist. The old 
man’s eyes twinkled, his face beamed with pleasure. 

“ I felt I must be right,” he said. The metamorphose 
has been construed in accordance with my wishes.” 

He turned, and as he went out he quietly closed the 
door. 



CHAPTER III. 

FAST DAY. 

“To this our western wilderness 
A glorious boon they bring, 

A church without a bishop, 

A state without a king.” 

N no country of the Protestant world has the 
“ Church on earth ” exercised such unbounded 
influence as in Connecticut during her early 
colonial days. Up to a very late period, the 
rights of voting, and all the essential privileges of freemen 
belonged only to church members. And as the right of 
admission to church membership lay absolutely in the 
hands of the ministers, this body of men virtually controlled 
the politics of the State. 

At the period during which the events narrated in this 
story occurred, many changes had taken place. Radical- 
ism, which had broken down many of the existing barriers 
in Europe, had not been without its effect even in Connec- 
ticut. Yet the older and more substantial citizens cluno- 

O 

tenaciously to the church, as in a great measure the ex- 
ponent of political as well as religious truths. 

Dr. Spencer’s name was a tower of strength. His 
wonderful learning, his eloquence, and, above all, the 
sweetness and gentleness of his nature, made the side 



FAST DAY. 


29 


which he espoused almost certain of success. He was 
known to be an ardent Federalist ; — in accord politically 
with the Governor and Council in the stand which they had 
taken against what they considered the usurpations of the 
general government. 

Would he, on this day, which the State government had 
set apart for imploring Divine aid and assistance, throw 
his influence in support of those who undoubtedly were 
justly resisting a technical invasion of their rights, or 
would he pour the oil of peace on the troubled waters of 
political strife. 

These were questions so pregnant, that it was not to be 

wondered at if the little church of D should be the 

point to which the leaders on both sides turned with anx- 
ious interest. 

It was one of those beautiful June mornings so peculiar 
to America. The hazy light hung softly over the sloping 
meadows, and the long shadows lay unbroken on the hill- 
sides. From far and near crowds came pouring in — on 
horseback, in carts and wagons of every description — 
sober, orderly, determined men. Had but a modern 
“ Cromwell ” appeared, here was the material out of which 
the religious, enthusiastic “ Ironsides ” could be formed. 

Edward Mason walked through the principal street 
some little time before the hour of service. His absence 
from his native State had not been sufficiently prolonged 
to weaken the regards of the younger members of the 
community, among whom he had always been a recognized 
leader. Quite a group of these had gathered around him, 
anxious to learn what his feelings were on the absorbing 
questions of the day, when his arm was touched, and turn- 
ing he saw Mr. Hamilton. 


30 


SIBYL SrENCER. 


The elder man drew him from the crowd, and after an 
affectionate greeting, said 

“ I was a boy of about fifteen, Edward, when in this 
very square I heard the news of ‘ Lexington/ It was fol- 
lowed by seven years of bloody war. On my honor, I do 
not think this present occasion less momentous.” 

“Why, Mr. Hamilton, how you astonish me ; we were 
then colonies. We are now one nation. We were then 
fighting for our liberties : now we are called upon to fight 
a foreign foe.” 

“ Not for the wealth of ‘ Ind,’ Edward, would I openly 
avow that I consider our liberties more in danger at this 
moment than they were then. Yes ” — he continued, reply- 
ing to the astonished look on the young man’s face — “yes, 
civil war, division, anarchy hang trembling in the balance. 
Every civil right dear to the New Englander has been in- 
vaded. The people are in a state of absolute madness.” 

“Are you not unconsciously magnifying the danger, 
Mr. Hamilton ? ” 

“ My dear boy, look around you. Where do these men 
spring from ! Every man you see is an Anglo-Saxon — 
descendants of the very men who sent Charles I. to the 
scaffold — of the men who defied the far greater power of 
the Church of Rome. To them civil liberty is identified 
with the ‘ Bill of Rights ’ and the ‘ Habeas Corpus.’ Are not 
our rulers in Washington at this very moment proposing to 
take from them privileges dearer by far than their heart’s 
blood?” 

“ Then I am to understand, Mr. Hamilton, that you 
sympathize with the action of the Executive, both in Mas- 
sachusetts and Connecticut, in resisting the claims of the 
general government ? ” 


FAST DAY. 3 1 

Sympathize with them, Edward, yes ; support them, 

no.” 

“ What do you mean ? I do not understand you — you 
speak in enigmas.” 

“ From my first entry into public life I taught myself 
to look upon this land as an undivided country — its in- 
habitants as one homogeneous whole. And if (which God 
forbid !) I were this day obliged to choose between the sur- 
render of our liberties and the division of our country, I 
should choose the former.” 

“Do you attach much importance to what will take 
place to-day ? Will the sermons or addresses carry weight 
in men’s m.inds ? ” 

“ Weight ? Young man, you do not know our people. 
To the mass of the farming class throughout New Eng- 
land, the words of James Spencer, and men like him, are 
held in as much reverence as by the Israel of old was the 
voice of Moses speaking from Horeb. If, as I fondly 
hope and believe, they are to be words of peace and good 
will, we may be saved. But should they preach resistance, 
not all the statecraft in the world can save us from a dis- 
solution of the ‘ Union,’ and a probable alliance with the 
British government.” 

“ One more question before you enter the church,” for 
Mr. Hamilton had turned as if to leave him. “ How do 
the Federal leaders feel in this crisis ? ” 

“ Generally as I do. Edward Mason, that starry flag 
shall not go down. Our forefathers made it, and we will 
sustain it. If you wish to judge for yourself, watch well 
the countenances of those assembled here to-day. As our 
worthy church-elders would express it, ‘ Watch as well as 
pray.’ ” 


32 


SIBYL SPENCER. 


While talking they had been walking slowly towards 
the church, when Mr. Hamilton stopped, and taking his 
young companion’s hand kindly in his own, he said : 

“ I knew and respected your father, my young friend, 
as did all men. The position he held in this community 
has fallen as a birthright upon you. It requires no great 

acuteness to see that the youth of D look upon 3^ou as 

their leader. What your intentions are, I know not. But 
of this I am sure, knowing the blood from which you 
spring — ‘ A gentleman never changes his politics or his 
religion.’ Before you take any overt step consult me.” 

Edward was a little surprised at the solemnity of the 
tone, and as he paused a moment, Mr. Hamilton came 
back to him, — 

“ Edward, a merchant often puts the profits of a life of 
toil on the hazard of a single venture. A mere man of 
the world, more often than that world supposes, does the 
same with the greater riches of the heart. Even should 
utter bankruptcy follow, and he be a true man, he honors 
his successful rival.” A sad smile passed over his face as 
he continued — “ You have won a prize. In season and 
out of season, and at all times,, count upon the friendship 
of Arthur Hamilton.” 

Edward made his way through the crowded entrance 
to the seats reserved for Dr. Spencer’s family, accompa- 
nied by his friend. He found Mrs. Spencer already there 
with the house-servants, each one of whom felt himself on 
an equality with his employers in the House of God. 

The pew was on the side of the church and faced the 
congregation, so that Edward, without transgressing the 
Puritan rules of conduct, was enabled to study the faces 


FAST DAY. 


33 


of the assemblage, and satisfy himself of the accuracy of 
Mr. Hamilton’s statements. It required but a rapid glance 
to verify the truth of his friend’s remarks. Among the 
younger members some hesitation might be observed, and 
as several avowed supporters of the national government 
were numbered among Dr. Spencer’s flock, there seemed 
an inclination on the part of these young men to rally 
round them as leaders. By far the larger portion, how- 
ever, both old and young, showed in manner and bearing 
that stern, self-reliant air which would have been looked 
for in “ Praise God Barebones’ ” parliament of old. A 
few of the elders carried their stoical composure so far, 
indeed, as resolutely to refrain from even glancing at the 
new-comers. 

Edward’s engagement to the daughter of their pastor 
had already been reported in the little community, and 
had caused a certain amount of curiosity to see how they 
would act under this trying ordeal. At this moment Dr. 
Spencer, in the gown of an “ M. A.,” his thin gray hair 
covered with a skull cap, his long bands of snowy white 
being the only relief to the otherwise perfect blackness of 
his garb, entered, and mounted the winding stairs which 
led to the pulpit. He stood for a moment and gazed on 
the congregation, who sat motionless, then drew his watch 
from his fob, and after holding it to his ear, laid it on the 
cushion before him, and, without uttering a word, extended 
his hands in the attitude of supplication. The utter ab- 
sence of form, the barrenness, the coldness of the Puritan 
mode of worship, never struck Edward so forcibly as on 
that morning. As he ran his eye over the upturned faces, 
a shudder passed throus^h him. Mr. Hamilton was right. 


34 


SIBYL SPENCER. 


and on the action of a few able, pure, but perhaps bigoted 
men, might hang the destiny of his country. 

Whatever may have been his thoughts, Edward’s atten- 
tion was soon riveted by the prayer. Accustomed to Dr. 
Spencer’s matchless eloquence, he had never thought until 
that moment that human language was capable of giving 
utterance to such pure, loving, humble supplication and 
prayer. The effect was wonderful ; many a tear glistened 
in eyes unused to weep, and found its way down cheeks 
hardened by the winds which “ sweep o’er hills of snow.” 

Outside of the city of Boston there could not have been 
found, at that time, an instrument of music in any Congre- 
gational church in New England. Yet such was the fer- 
vor of the assemblage that its absence was hardly felt. 
The Psalm chosen was the old metrical version of the 
forty-eighth — “ God is our refuge and strength, a very 
present help in time of trouble.” 

So strong was the strain on Edward’s nerves, that it 
was a relief to him when the last note died away, and the 
sermon commenced. Dr. Spencer availed himself of the 
occasion of its being a “ fast day ” to make his discourse 
strictly political. No matter how momentous the occasion, 
it is doubtful if he could have allowed himself to discuss 
secular affairs on the Sabbath. After a most masterly 
sketch of the grand principles which each nation had suc- 
cessively been called upon to found in the general polity 
of the world, he took up the rise and political progress of 
this infant state. Under the providence of God, freedom, 
he claimed, was its mission — freedom built upon the con- 
servative, principles of law. The action of the party in 
power he treated as one of those sudden storms which dis- 


FAST DAY. 35 

turb the political atmosphere without in any way altering 
the regular order of the seasons. 

Although he spoke for almost two hours, not for one 
moment did the attention of his auditors flag. The effect 
could at once be seen and felt, as by some electrical influ- 
ence. A few of the older men, and one stern man in par- 
ticular, who filled the post of senior deacon, frowned 
darkly, and once even shook his head, at what he consid- 
ered a melancholy backsliding in political faith. But it 
was evident a change had been wrought, and a large ma- 
jority of his congregation were prepared to follow the lead 
of their pastor. 

For several minutes after he had finished his discourse. 
Dr. Spencer remained standing, his eyes upraised as if in 
silent prayer. Then leaning over the pulpit, he said in 
clear low tones, which vibrated on every ear, 

“ My friends, it is now thirty years since, when from 
this very spot, my father bade the fathers of many whom I 
now see before me, ‘ God speed,’ when they went to fight 
for liberty as against the tyranny of kings. It now be- 
comes my duty to bid such of you ‘ God speed ’ who are 
called upon to battle on behalf of your country. In the 
far-off spirit-land they now look down upon us,, and they 
ask in tones which must penetrate into every heart, ‘ Are 
you willing to allow this land — the land we gave you, the 
land for which we fought and died — to be divided and torn 
asunder, to become the fragment of a whole, the sport and 
derision of Christendom ? To see the bright star of free- 
dom sink drenched in fratricidal blood ? ’ Your friends, 
your brethren, your sister States are in the field asking for 
aid. Can you be deaf to the call ? Receive the blessing. 


3 ^ 


SIBYL SPENCER. 


May the Triune God bless, protect, and keep this, our 
common country. May He make her free, happy, and 
above all obedient to Him. May he confound and destroy 
all her enemies, at home and abroad, and may the frosts 
of the second death seize upon every heart which does not 
say ‘ Amen ! ’ ” 

The silence was deathlike for an instant, and then 
came a deep, unanimous “ Amen.” 

As the congregation rose to disperse, Edward’s arm 
was seized by Mr. Hamilton, who muttered in his ear, 
“ We are saved. The effect of this man’s overwhelming 
influence will be felt in every nook and cranny of this 
State. God bless James Spencer ! ” 

Edward caught a glimpse of Sibyl near the church- 
porch, and, excusing himself, hurried towards her. It was 
a trying ordeal, this acknowledgment before town’s folk 
and acquaintances, but it may be doubted if there is any 
young girl who, at some period of her life, would not trem- 
blingly have passed through it. 

As Mr. Hamilton lingered with a sad smile on his face, 
watching the lovers sauntering off down the shady lane, he 
was joined by the old deacon to whom we have alluded. 

“ You liked it, I know you did, I saw it in your face. 
Never deny it to me, Mr. Hamilton, I should hate to dis- 
believe you.” 

“ My dear sir, I have no hesitancy in declaring at once 
that Dr. Spencer’s principles are mine, that heart and hand, 
I go with him to the good work.” 

“ Ain’t it a surrendering to the Evil one, a-bowing down 
to the Scarlet woman. ’Tisn’t often, Mr. Hamilton, that 
you worship in the simple way of your fathers. You’ve 


FAST DAY. 


37 


j’ined the Episcopal communion, not that I’m saying you 
can’t be of the elect in so doing. It is not for a misera- 
ble worm like me to make myself a ‘judge in Israel.’ But 
it is so easy after you have invested one dollar, to put in 
another to save it.” 

“ My dear old friend,” said Hamilton, not in the slight- 
est degree discomposed by this sudden attack, “ you 
should know that my family for generations have been 
members of the ‘ Church of England.’ My political faith 
and yours are the same. Deacon. But I cannot, I will 
not, I dare not bring civil war upon my country.” 

“ You are in the right,” said the other bitterly; “ we’re 
the weakest, and must go to the wall. But there is no 
harm in wishing that God will treat our democratic rulers, 
even as Josiah treated the priests of Baal, when he slew 
them at the brook Kedron in the wilderness. Let’s j’ine 
the folks, and see how they talk. Ah, me ! but it’s hard 
to preserve -a Christian temper when one is so tempted.” 


CHAPTER IV. 
seamen’s rights. 



“ They love their land because it is their own 
And scorn to give ought other reason why, 

Would shake hands with a king upon his throne, 
And think it kindness to his majesty.” — Halleck. 



MONO the groups into which the audience 
divided on leaving the church, was one com- 
posed of several men, whose manners marked 
them as leaders in this little world. They 
acted, they moved and spoke like men accustomed to be 
loolied up to and followed by their less fortunate neigh- 
bors. Yet there was still a mixture of restraint and uncer- 
tainty unusual with the ordinary self-assertion, of the select- 
men of a New England village. Deacon Knapp was a good 
specimen of the “ well-to-do ” Yankee. He was about sixty 
years old, tall and thin, although his height was much less- 
ened by an habitual stoop. His gray hair was drawn back 
in a tight queue, giving prominence to his sharp-cut features. 
His eyes, light blue and restless, were expressive of a cer- 
tain cunning, but his countenance was redeemed from vul- 
garity by the firm lines of his mouth and the intensity of 
his look. His dress was a dark-blue body coat cut very 
full, with side pockets and metal buttons. A waistcoat of 

some bright checked stuff, gray cloth knee-breeches, blue 
(38) 


seamen’s rights. 


39 


stockings and shoes with silver buckles, and a broad- 
brimmed white hat. His address and bearing indicated a 
man confident of his own power, and accustomed to have his 
remarks listened to respectfully. He owned a large farm 
some distance from the village, which had descended to 
him from his grandfather. His family consisted of two 
sons and two daughters. One of the boys had graduated 
at Yale College and was now a young lawyer in his native 
place. The second had just taken his degree as a “ Doc- 
tor of Medicine,” and was absent from home. One of his 
daughters had married and lived near her father, the other, 
a fine, tall, handsome, red-cheeked, black-eyed girl kept 
house for the old man, who had lost his wife many years 
before. This young girl was the ardent admirer and warm 
friend of Sibyl Spencer. 

Deacon Knapp was evidently in a state of bewilderment 
and doubt. “ I kinder reckon the Parson skimmed olf 
most of the cream this morning from the pan, but some 
how he didn’t ladle the milk clear.” 

This preliminary speech was uttered loud enough to 
be heard by the younger men, who lingered near the out- 
skirts of the group. 

“ There is no use. Deacon,” said the man more particu- 
larly addressed, and who was always known as Major 
Bailey, a leading politician on the Democratic side — “ there 
is no use Deacon, even in Dr. Spencer a-trying to throw 
cold water on this government. It has the confidence of 
the people and they mean to invest their fortunes in it.” 

“ It don’t seem to strike me. Major,” continued the 
Deacon eyeing him with some severity, and speaking with 
tartness, “ as how you’ve got hold of the p’int of this ere 


40 


SIBYL SPENCER. 


argument. It’s all very well speaking of investing when it’s 
your savings you’re puttin’ away ag’in a rainy day. You can 
set them down — salt them away like in ‘ Yazoo lands ’ as 
some of us done, afore we got to be lamed in such matters. 
But when a man begins to talk of the principal of what has 
got, he becomes as you say kinder keerful.” There was a 
chuckle of suppressed laughter — the Major having been 
a large speculator in Southern and Western land companies. 
The Deacon saw his advantage — “ As I was a-saying, the 
principal of our fortune rests, I reckon, on the strength and 
durability of this government. I am an oldish man, but 
I’ll smell powder afore I see it broke up. We’ve had to 
bear and forbear a good deal since the dimicrats came in, 
but I’m much mistaken if the most on us here don’t agree 
in my way of thinking.” 

“ Then why don’t you, and the others who think like 
you, send in the militia as the government wishes you to 
do,” retorted the other, his temper not improved by the 
laugh that had been raised against him. 

“Now that’s the p’int I’m a-coming to,” said the old 
man, not a feature moving, not a tone in his voice altering. 
“ I believe the general government’s got a right to make 
war or peace — to ask for our men, or our money, all 
under the constitution. I don’t like parting with money 
more than any of you, but I’ll pay my taxes cheerful, if I 
think there’s justice in them, grumbling if I don’t — but 
I’ll pay them. I’ll send my boys too, that is, I’ll tell them 
what I think. But I’ll not give up one p’int in what I 
consider the constitution protects us in. To my mind the 
Governor and Council are right. Our militia belongs to us. 
They’re poor enough— two days’ training in a year don’t 


seamen’s rights. 


41 


make a soldier, any more than one swallow makes a sum- 
mer. But its all weVe got ag’in any sudden incursion of 
the enemy.” 

“ Well,” answered the other, “ that’s just what the 
government wants. They want to put them in the forts at 
New Haven and New London to prevent the coasts from 
being insulted. You give away your whole case when you 
admit that.” 

“ No I don’t,” answered the Deacon stoutly. “ I can 
plough my furrow as straight as any man. If the govern- 
ment had wanted them for that purpose do you think they’d 
have left a man like you stay to hum. You got your com- 
mission from the State. You can’t tell how much better 
the woman folk would have felt, if you had been sent down 
to look arter the boys. You are a powerful handsome 
man in your regimentals. Major Bailey.” 

“ What good would I have done anyhow ? ” replied 
Bailey. 

“ Not much,” continued the imperturbable Deacon. 
“ There’s few men set a safer value on an article than 3^ou 
do. Major, when you give your mind to it. As I was a- 
saying, that’s not what was intended. They meant to mix 
our boys in with the regulars, to dress them and break 
them in and then ship them tp Canada, to try and conquer 
a province that’s not worth more to this Union than the 
piece of land I take to grow garden sass in. Them’s my 
views.” 

Mr. Hamilton had joined the group as the Deacon was 
speaking, who now turned towards him and continued — 

“ If the general government’s got the right to declare 
war, she’s got the right to raise armies, if she can get any 


42 


SIBYL SPENCER. 


one to go in them, and in consequence the right of laying 
taxes and making loans to pay for those armies. But she’s 
got to do them things under the constitution. I never 
heard that the men who drafted that ere instrument in- 
tended giving the power to draft men into the army or 
navy only to carry on a foreign war.” 

“But, Deacon,” broke in Bailey, “hasn’t the govern- 
ment a right to draft men to defend the coast, and the 
northern frontier, and to repress insurrection ? ” 

“There’s no insurrection, there’s no invasion,” an- 
swered the Deacon, “ there’s no law in danger which the 
special men of the town can’t enforce and not even call on 
the town constable to help. If the Yorkers were up in 
arms ag’in the courts it might be a different matter. But 
they ain’t. Now this conquest of Canada is a thing which 
in my judgment the people’s got a right to express their 
opinion about. If they wish to take it, they’ve got a per- 
fect right to jine the regular army and try. For my part, 
I don’t seem to hanker after it some how.” 

The more moderate of his hearers evidently agreed 
with him. There were however among them several who 
took a much more extreme ground. 

Leaning against the fence was a tall, handsome young 
fellow of about six-and-twenty. One whose sunburnt face, 
strong, muscular form, and the indescribable air a seaman 
always wears, proclaimed his profession. 

“ Don’t you think. Deacon,” he said, “ we might carry 
this argument a step further ? We are a sea-going, a trad- 
ing, and a mercantile community, we Connecticut men, the 
most of us I mean; We toil long and work hard, and we 
sea-going men have had about six years of as bad times 


SEAMEN S RIGHTS. 


43 

as fall to the lot of most people — what between British 
orders in council, and French decrees, and our own em- 
bargo and non-intercourse acts.” 

“That’s the very reason,” interrupted Bailey, “that 
you seamen should join heart and hand in putting down 
this upstart British nation. Let the great French Emperor 
once make the ocean free.” 

“ I think. Major,” said the Deacon, “ you are rather 
sp’iling to talk, and yet, I guess I’ll act as moderator of 
this here meeting and we’ll hear what Sammy’s got to 
say.” 

“ As to the freedom of the seas, I think I can say 
something about that,” continued the seaman. “ The 
English don’t interfere with the freedom of the seas ex- 
cept so far as the law of nations justifies. I know what 
I am talking about, sir,” he said looking at Bailey who had 
laughed rather contemptuously at this statement. “ I did 
not come in at the cabin windows. I shipped when I was 
a boy of fifteen at New Haven, and have been through 
all the grades, until I stood master on the quarter deck.” 

“ I suppose you don’t call impressing our native citizens 
and shutting them up as slaves inside ‘ England’s wooden 
walls ’ any thing, do you .? ” asked Bailey with a sneer. 

“Yes, I should,” continued Griswold ; “but the fun of 
the thing is, England has not done it, except in a few, a 
very few instances, and then the men hadn’t their papers.” 

“ Now, Sammy, you ain’t going a little too far are ye ? ” 
asked the Deacon. 

“ I assert it and I know it can be proved. It has been 
stated in Congress, by the members from this State, and 
never denied by the official mouth-piece of the government, 


44 


SIBYL SPENCER. 


that three quarters of all the seamen who man our mer- 
chant vessels are foreign born.” 

“That may be so,” said Bailey, “but they are all natu- 
ralized citizens, and therefore entitled to our protection.” 

“ What the law of nations may be on this subject,” con 
tinned Griswold, “ Mr. Hamilton can tell you far better 
than I can. But this I know, there’s not a custom house 
in America in which protections ain’t issued for the ask- 
ing. And if the collector stands out, which he rarely does, 
you can buy a witness for two dollars, at any sailor’s 
boarding house,to swear he has known you from your birth.” 

“Well, but,” said Bailey, a little staggered by the direct- 
ness of the sailor’s statements, “ if the sea, as the Emperor 
desires, was made free, the flag covering the cargo, all this 
trouble would be done away with. You’re stopped there, 
I guess.” 

“ No, sir, I am not,” replied Griswold. “ I can show in 
my own case what this freedom of the seas, the French 
talk about, amounts to, if it would interest you.” 

“Of course it will interest us,” said Mr. Hamilton ; 
“ we are all more or less concerned in what is now the 
great topic of the day.” 

“ Well, then, last year I was master of as fine a brig as 
sailed out of a northern port.” 

The seaman controlled himself wonderfully, but he was 
evidently laboring under great excitement. 

“ I loaded with tobacco at Baltimore for Riga, then an 
open port. We had a fine run over, and when we got in 
the chops of the channel, we were overhauled by a British 
frigate ; she hailed us, and we backed our top-sail, and 
she sent a boat aboard with a lieutenant.” 


seamen’s rights. 


45 


“ How did they behave,” asked Mr. Hamilton, “ were 
they as insolent and overbearing as they are always repre- 
sented ?” 

“ Not in the least so,” answered the seaman. “ He 
was a little haughty — all officers in uniform are. He looked 
over the ship’s papers, had the men mustered and com- 
pared my reckoning. I asked him down in the cabin to 
have a glass of grog, which he accepted. There was a lady 
passenger on board with three children, one a girl of about 
fifteen, who was very sick. The officer left us without a 
word more. The crew were all Americans, and had their 
papers in order. I had just filled away, when the frigate 
fired a gun, and the officer came back.” 

“Ah, ha ! ” said Bailey, exultantly, “ I knew you wouldn’t 
get off so cheap. What did they do then ? Tell us all, 
don’t keep any thing back.” 

“Don’t worry,” said Griswold, “you shall hear all. 
The officer brought a file of English papers for me, and 
a dozen of ‘porter’ for the young lady, as a present from 
the ward-room officers. I had told him we had nothing 
but rum aboard and I was afraid she’d die.” 

“ It somehow strikes me,” said the Deacon, “ although 
I don’t sit up for a democratic politician, them Britishers 
ought to be put down ; making a Yankee lose an hour, 
and he sharp for a market.” 

“ That’s not the point. What right had that frigate to 
stop an American vessel on the high seas,” said Bailey, 
flushing a deep red. 

“ I never heard before,” said Mr. Hamilton, “ the right 
of search denied by any civilian in time of war.” 

“ We were close in with the French coast,” continued 


46 


SIBYL SPENCER. 


Griswold, “ and had just set the dog watch, when I made 
out a large lugger through the haze. The wind had died 
away arid it was almost calm, and she ran us slap on 
board. In five minutes our decks were covered with men; 
five minutes did I say — by George ! it was not three, 
before they were in every hole and cranny ofi the brig. In 
the forecastle, among the men’s things, in the steward’s 
pantry. One little black-faced monkey, with his hair done 
in corkscrew curls, and gold rings in his ears, began kiss- 
ing and pulling the lady about. She screamed with fright. 
I just took him under the ear with my left hand. They 
had some trouble in bringing him to. I got a wipe from 
the captain’s cutlass — I shall carry the mark to my 
grave.” 

He bared his arm as he spoke. It was seamed across 
with a deep, ugly scar. 

“ I can use it though,” he said with a laugh, and the 
muscles rose like manilla cordage. 

There was not a man who doubted the fact that the 
Frenchman had remained quiet some time. 

“ Well, Griswold,” said Mr. Hamilton, “ what became 
of you after the Frenchmen came on board ? ” 

“They took us into St. Malo. I showed them my 
papers. I was a neutral, sailing for a neutral port. I had 
on board a cargo, declared by their own courts, not to be 
‘ contraband of war.’ I might just as well have talked to 
a nest of pirates. And they are pirates. They seized the 
ship, and on what pretext do you think ? That I had 
‘ denationalized ’ myself, as they call it, by having spoken 
a British frigate in the open sea.” 

“ There you see,” said Bailey, “ you ought to have re- 


seamen's rights. 


47 


sisted, you ought never to have allowed the foot of an 
Englishman to tread your decks.” 

“ Resisted fiddlesticks,” answered the seaman, “ I 
could not have resisted if I would. There was not so 
much as a rusty musket on board, and I lying under the 
quarter of a thirty-two gun frigate.” 

“When did this happen — what month was it.? ” asked 
Mr. Hamilton, “ was it before the repeal to the ‘ Berlin 
and Milan decrees.’ ” 

“ It was the first part of last December. Our govern- 
ment had published to the world that there were no more 
French restrictions on commerce. You, sir, know better 
than I, if those facts were not officially stated.” 

“ I do, indeed,” said Mr. Hamilton, in answer to this 
inquiry. “ The very statement is the essence of our 
charges against England.” 

“ Didn’t you do nothing at all,” sneered Bailey. “You 
give it up rather easily, ship and cargo, didn’t you ? But 
perhaps your own venture wasn’t a large one.” 

The young sailor had been leaning against the fence in 
a careless, graceful attitude. He turned his head and 
looked at the speaker. 

After fidgeting a moment Bailey continued — 

“Neighbors, as this is a fast day, and one of prayer, 
may be the Lord wouldn’t take it kindly, if we stand here 
all day talking.” 

“ It strikes me, Major,” said the Deacon, “ the women 
folks must be powerful lonely at home without you. It’s bad 
for the narves, in seasons of prayer, to let them wrastle 
with the enemy, and no one near to keep their courage 
up. I think you are about right in going to hum, I do.” 


48 


SIBYL SPENCER, 


There was no dissenting voice, the Major left. 

“ As we’re sociable, and all together like, Captain, sup' 
pose we go on with that story of yours.” 

“ There’s little more to tell ; I hung round St. Malo 
until the Prize Court decided the confiscation, and then I 
got permission to go to Paris. 

“ Did you obtain assistance from our minister at the 
French court, Griswold ! ” said Mr. Hamilton, “ and w^as 
the trial an open one, and had you counsel ? ” 

“ We had no minister there at the time, only a ‘ charge 
d’affaires,’ not that it was any loss to either the owners or 
myself. Everybody told me that our late minister. General 
Armstrong, paid little attention to the sufferings of either 
seamen or travellers. I had a counsel, a M. Le Grange. I 
think him the only honest, fearless man in France. At 
first the court released the vessel, but afterwards she was 
condemned by a special order of the Emperor.” 

“You say suffering, Griswold. Did you, personally, 
have any cause of complaint } ” 

“ I was only obliged to pawn every thing, down to my 
last jacket. I had nowhere to sleep, and was dogged and 
followed everywhere by spies and police. They started 
once to take me to the ‘ Temple.’ That is all, sir.” 

“I know’d you’d come of good old Puritan stock, 
Sammy,” said the Deacon, “ and would hold, like your old 
daddy, that the place to worship God was in the ‘ temple 
not built by hands,’ rather than in any vain imagining of 
man’s works. But didn’t you carry the p’int a little far, to 
call it ‘ suffering,’ only to go in it ? 1 ask this inquiring 

like.” 

Mr. Hamilton had to turn his head to hide a smile at 


seamen’s rights. 


49 

the old man’s simplicity. Griswold broke into a hearty 
laugh. 

“The Temple I mean, Deacon, was the worst prison in 
France.” 

“ Do tell now,” said the Deacon ; “ who but a French- 
man would call a prison a temple. Keep on talking, 
Sammy, it’s better than a sermon. Now we hain’t got any 
dimmicrats, at least none to speak on, to p’ison the air — 
keep right on.” 

“ Mr. Hamilton,” said the sailor, “ I saw sights in those 
prison pens in France which would have made your blood 
run cold. Hundreds, nay thousands of our seamen, some 
of them from the towns and villages of this our native State, 
men who have been missing for years, and whom we 
thought shut up in England’s frigates — farmed out at so 
much a head to the brutal peasantry, and worked under 
the lash, harder than we work our oxen. Glad, I say, to 
get a little sour bread and wine, to keep body and soul to- 
gether. Men shut up for no crime. Taken from vessels ; 
condemned on pretexts ten times more trifling even than 
mine was.” 

“ I’d like to ask,” interrupted the Deacon, “ if Mr. 
Hamilton, who has been a servant of the people for some 
years, knows if these facts have ever been brought to the 
knowledge of our government ? ” 

“ Not to my personal knowledge. Deacon. You re- 
member I have never been an office-holder under either 
Mr. Madison or his predecessor. I have, however, every 
reason to believe that facts, such as Captain Griswold has 
stated, have often been laid before the government, and 
are, and were, thoroughly well known to the high state of- 
ficials.” 


4 


50 


SIBYL SPENCER. 


There was a pause, broken by the Deacon, who rever- 
ently took oif his hat. 

“ The God of our fathers, the same great Guid and 
Ruler of the Universe, will no doubt find a way of escape 
for his children, if they do but serve him, and do their 
duty. I agree, for one, with Parson Spencer ; and if our 
country needs us, as far as a man who’s getting along in 
years can help, he will. She’s our country after all, even 
if the dimmicrats be in power. Them’s my sentiments.” 

The solemn air and manner of the man touched Mr. 
Hamilton, who turned as the group broke up, and walked 
towards his own house. Familiar as he was with all the 
varied peculiarities of his countrymen, he felt that the sal- 
vation of his native land depended upon this calm, deep, 
religious feeling, which could in all events be relied upon 
in the bulk of the New England yeomen. 


V 



CHAPTER V. 
sally’s choice. 

“ And when you dream of woman and her love, 

Her truth, her tenderness, her gentle power, 

Her maiden-listening in the moonlight grove ; 

The mother smiling in her infant’s bower ; 

Forms, features, worshipped while we breathe or move 
Be by some spirit of your dreaming hour. 

Borne, like Loretto’s chapel, through the air, 

To the green land I sing, then wake, you’ll find them there/ 

Halleck. 

F you isn’t tired, Sammy,” said the Deacon, as 
the group dispersed,’ “perhaps you might like 
to stretch your legs a little. I’ve got some 
questions I should like to put you.” 

The change which came over the young man when thus 
addressed, did not escape the quick-sighted farmer, who 
eyed him keenly. They had walked some distance down 
the road before the silence was broken. 

“ Was your own venture in the brig a large one, Sammy? ” 
said the Deacon. 

“ All I had in the world,” replied the seaman. 

“What?” said the other, stopping in his walk, and 
gazing at the sailor with open-eyed wonder, “What, all ? — 
what, the old farm, and the bank stock, and all your daddy 
left you ? ” 

The other only nodded. 



52 


SIBYL SPENCER. 


There was a long silence. 

“ Sammy,” said the Deacon, “ how long have you been 
back — in the country I mean ? ” 

“About three weeks. Only since last night in this 
town.” 

“ You’ve been back three weeks in America, and not 
been to see your friends ! ” 

“ Look here. Deacon,” said the other, “ you might as 
well hear the story at once. At least if you wish to.” 

“ In course I do,” said the elder man ; “go on.” 

“ Sister and I divided what father left, two years ago. 
She took the old farm and the stock on it, and I turned the 
rest into money, and bought a quarter interest in the 
‘Alert.’ You know I was away about two years the voy- 
age before this last one. When we put into Baltimore, you 
may remember, I just ran up here to see sister, and — and 
the folks.” 

The young man reddened as he spoke. 

“ I see’d ye,” dryly muttered the old man. 

“ Well,” continued the seaman, growing more and more 
embarrassed, “ I had saved, what with my pay and my own 
ventures, and my quarter of the profits, about ten thousand 
dollars. So I bought my share of the tobacco, and I had 
hoped to have enough by this time to have spoken to you. 
But,” he added bitterly, “ what has a poor sailor man to 
hope for in these times, when he has nothing but his two 
hands to help himself with.” 

“ That’s gospel truth any way,” muttered the Deacon ; 
“but,” he said aloud, “it ain’t no reason why you shouldn’t 
have been to see your friends — neighbor-like, Captain 
Griswold.” 


SALLY S CHOICE. 


53 


I know it, I know it,” said the Captain. “ I hadn’t 
the courage. It was only the day before I left to take com- 
mand, that last voyage, I asked your daughter, if I came 
back this time with enough to buy a farm, and make things 
snug and ship-shape, she’d have me.” 

“ And what did she say ? ” asked the Deacon sharply. 

“ She only laughed. Not a word, good or bad, could I 
get out of her.” 

“ She’s an uncommon sensible girl, is my darter,” again 
muttered the old man. 

“ Yes,” said the seaman, disregarding the Deacon’s 
speech, “ I went away half mad, and this place would not 
have seen me again in years, had it not been that I got a 
letter the day before I sailed. There was not one word of 
writing in it, it only held this ; but some how I felt better.” 

He took from his pocket a worn-out envelope, and 
showed a dark curl of hair, tied with a blue ribbon. 

“ I kept that, if I did not keep either the ship or the 
cargo.” 

The Deacon stood still on the road. He looked his 
companion from head to foot. 

“ Sammy, when I was a boy, I played with your daddy, 
down by the old school-house yonder. We went out to- 
gether in ’76 — and we sat together in the old meeting- 
house until he died. I’d take it uncommon kind if you’d 
just drop in and have a chat with the old man to-night, 
if you’ve nothing better to do. There’ll be nobody there 
to speak on, but I’d take it kind, I would.” 

He left the sailor abruptly, and walked rapidly down 
the road. Deacon Knapp’s house stood close on the 
road. The first story was built of rough stone, and the 


54 


SIBYL SPENCER. 


upper story was of wood, shingled on the outside. In front 
was a porch covered with honeysuckle and briar roses. 
You could still see the marks of loop-holes in the walls. 
Many and many a time had the whoop of the savage 
Pequot awakened in that building “the sleep of the 
cradle.” There was the same absence of taste in all the 
surroundings, always noticeable in New England farm- 
houses. The barns were large, and in good order. Com- 
parative wealth was there, but it was shown in the simpli- 
city of sixty years ago. The Deacon entered at once into 
the kitchen, evidently the common sitting-room of the 
family. Every thing was beautifully clean and neat. In 
one corner ticked an old-fashioned clock, its polished wood 
and silver dial marking the antiquity of its make. A few 
books hung in a book-shelf against the wall, also two or 
three cheap prints of scenes in the Revolutionary War, the 
attack on Quebec and the fall of Montgomery, a head 
of Washington, around which were still the remains of a 
wreath. Over the old-fashioned chimney-place hung a 
musket and one or two long clay pipes, also several curiosi- 
ties of Indian warfare and the chase. A strapping country 
girl, the hired help, was sweeping the remains of the “ fast- 
day ” meal off the polished oak table, and to whose ques- 
tion “ if he wanted any thing to eat,” the old man replied 
by shaking his head. The Deacon took down one of the 
pipes and filled it with tobacco from a box on the shelf, 
then seated himself by the open window. His low mutter- 
ing at length found vent in words. 

“ The boy is as like Israel as two peas. He’s got the 
same temper and the same principles. Sally ” — this last 
word he uttered aloud. 


sally’s choice. 


55 


“Where’s Sally ?” he asked the girl who came in. 

“ I see’d her going across the meadow towards the 
brook as you came in,” answered the servant. “ Was there 
much of a crowd at meeting to-day, and how did the folks 
take Dr. Spencer’s sermon ? ” 

The old man made no answer, but smoked on in 
silence. The girl only wanted a listener, so she went on 
with her remarks. 

“ I thought I see’d Sam Griswold go by the house this 
morning. Has he come back again } Perhaps he didn’t 
get the mitten after all — who knows } ” 

“Nobody, if you don’t,” said the old man. “You 
generally find out every thing about your neighbors’ doings 
as soon as anybody.” 

“ What’s the use of eyes, if they isn’t for seeing,” said 
the girl. “ Howsomever, here’s Sally, and you kin ask 
her.” With this last fling the girl flounced out of the 
kitchen and slammed the door. 

She who now stood in the door-W'ay was a rare specimen 
of New England beauty. Tall and slight, but beautifully 
rounded in figure, with bright black eyes, red cheeks, and 
long, glossy, dark brown hair. Her mouth was perhaps a 
trifle large, but her red lips and white teeth took away 
from the defect, if defect it was. She was the possessor 
of charms sufficient to bewilder a more accomplished man 
of the world than a free-spoken, open-hearted sailor. The 
old Deacon evidently thought so, for he eyed her long 
and keenly. There was a slight degree of constraint in 
the girl’s manner, as she sat down near the open door 
playing with a few wild flowers she had gathered during 
her walk. 


56 


SIBYL SPENCER. 


What kept you so long at meeting ? ” she asked ; 
“ will you have any thing to eat, or are you going to fast ? I 
wish you would deny 3^ourself that horrid tobacco, there 
would be some reason in that. Come out on the porch, 
this room is hot and uncomfortable.” 

“ I will,” said her father j “ I want to talk with you, 
Sally.” 

“ Well, you have not answered my question — what 
kept you so long at meeting ? ” 

“ Oh ! Mr. Hamilton and me, and some of the others 
got arguing about the war. Then we had Bailey.” 

“ Disagreeable man,” broke in the girl ; “ I hope you 
gave him a piece of your mind.” 

“ Well, he didn’t seem to take much stock in what was 
said, nor in the story Sammy Griswold told neither.” 

“ Who ? ” said his daughter growing deadly pale, and 
then flushing up, over neck and face. 

“Why Sammy — he’s come to hum again, and there 
ain’t much left of him neither. I mean in the way of 
property.” 

“ Why, what’s happened to him ? ” asked the girl 
coldly. 

“ Only his ship and cargo was taken by the French, and 
he hasn’t a rapp to bless himself with,” replied her father. 

“How long has he been home, here in America I 
mean ? ” asked the girl. 

“ Something like four weeks maybe,” said her father. 

“ I knew he had been back some little time.” 

“ How did you hear that, and why didn’t you tell me ? ” 
asked her father. 

“ His sister had a letter from him. It did not interest 


sally’s choice. 


57 


me, and I thought it would not interest you,” replied- the 
daughter, looking at the flowers she was pulling to pieces 
between her fingers. 

“She’s a-lying,” muttered the old man between his 
teeth. 

“There was nothing between you and Sammy, was 
there, Sa\\f> ” 

“ Oh dear, no,” said the girl ; “ what put such an idea 
in your head ? ” 

“ You never writ him any letters or such like, did 
ye ? ” 

“ Me ! ” said Sally with a forced laugh. “ Do you think 
I write to all the young men who keep company with 
me?” 

“ I knew she was a-lying,” again muttered the keen- 
sighted old man. “ Well, then, there’s no harm done ; a 
poor devil of a sailor’s no match for my daughter in such 
times as these.” 

“ He never was a match,” said the girl looking fiercely 
at her father with her big black eyes. “ What put all these 
ideas in your head. You do not generally take so much 
trouble about my sweethearts,” and she blushed deeply as 
she spoke. 

“ Why you see, Sally, I was a thinking if you had 
led him on like, it might be kinder difficult to turn him 
away, now he’s poor you know. But as you se.y there’s 
nothing in it, I’m bound to believe you.” The old man 
rose from his seat, shook the ashes out of his pipe, and 
coming up softly to his daughter, laid his hand on her 
glossy hair. 

“ You see, my darter, the boys are going to have their 


58 


SIBYL SPENCER. 


share of my property in money, when I die, and I will 
give your sister the farm she now lives on. So she will be 
comfortable. I always hoped that this old place would go 
down to your children. You’ve always taken care of me 
since mother died, so I want you to marry some man 
well-off in the world, and one who can take a stand in the 
town and among his neighbors.” 

The girl’s eyes had filled with tears as the old man 
spoke, and she rested her cheek against his rough hand. 
“ I’ll never marry, father,” she said ; ‘‘we will always live 
here, as we have done these last five years.” 

“ That’s as may be,” said the Deacon. “ I thought it 
would be kind like to ask Sammy down. I thought, 
maybe, I might help him to earn an honest living, for he 
talked something of going in the army. He said he’d 
come down this afternoon and talk the matter over. I just 
thought I’d tell you, so you might know how to act.” 
The old man chuckled, as he walked towards the barn- 
yard. “If that doesn’t fix it, they’re two darned fools,” 
he muttered. 

The girl sat still in the porch with a bewildered look. It 
was the first time in her life that her father had ever spoken 
to her of any of her actions. She had been in the very fullest 
sense allowed the liberty which every American girl claims 
almost as her birthright. She had known Griswold since her 
earliest childhood ; he had been her playmate and boy lover, 
and their attachment had been mutual. Unable to control 
the natural coquetry of her disposition, she had played with 
the passion of the sailor until he left, and then she sent 
him the strongest proof of her affection in the lock of hair. 
Long and anxiously she had watched and waited for his 


sally’s choice. 


59 


return from a voyage, which she had understood was to be a 
short one. He came home, but it was not, as usual, to hasten 

to D . A letter to his sister, of which she only saw a 

portion^ spoke vaguely of other plans and intentions. 
Stung to madness, the girl fell back upon herself, and 
bitter were the thoughts and intentions that pretty head 
revolved, by which she would snap forever the last link 
which bound him to her. All this did not prevent Miss 
Sally from making herself look as pretty and attractive as 
lay in her power. Her best white dress, the few little orna- 
ments which their simple habits allowed, her long glossy 
ringlets in the fashion of the day, worn loose and flowing, 
tied with a blue ribbon. 

The long June evening was deepening into night, as 
the Deacon sat by the window smoking his never-failing 
pipe. He had been watching his child as she slowly walked 
up and down the path which led from the house to the 
gate. The look he cast on her was one half of amuse- 
ment half of sorrow. Few would have given the shrewd 
old Yankee farmer credit for the tender spot which lin- 
gered in that toil-worn frame. He did remember — not many 
of us do — that he had been young. The memories of past 
years came back to him — a fair form so like his daugh- 
ter’s. He had always, on that account, loved her more 
than all his children — she was so like her mother. When 
should he see her again } For the first time his stern 
Puritan faith was shaken. He needed no exposition on 
that subject. She was of the elect. A low murmur of voices 
had struck his ear for some time, without rousing his at- 
tention, when leaning somewhat forward, he certainly saw 
two persons, very close to each other, on that vine-covered 


6o 


SIBYL SPENCER. 


porch. The girl was sitting, leaning back against the railing, 
and as the faint light of evening stole softly over her, the 
Deacon thought he could distinguish, yes, he was certain 
he could, the head of a man. The man must be standing 
on the ground just behind her, which brought his head to 
a level with hers. Deacon Knapp had never studied light 
and shade, or the effect of foreshortening, but it certainly 
did look like a man’s arm, that dark shadow which was 
thrown around the young girl’s dress. There is much 
dry humor in the American character, and it was with a 
chuckle of malicious pleasure that the old man stood 
about an hour later in the open door-way. 

“ Why, Sammy, is that you, I’ve been expecting you 
the whole evening. You must have been powerful lonely, 
all alone here by yourself. Sally, come in, come in, 
we’ll have a light and then a man can see yer. My eyes 
ain’t as good as they used to be.” 

His daughter sprang, blushing and confused, past the 
smiling old man, and hid herself in the recesses of her 
own room. 

The young sailor followed his host into the sitting- 
room. Never before had he endured such an agony of 
fear. When “ well-to-do,” more than commonly rich, in this 
world’s goods, he had hesitated to meet the clear, cold eye 
of Sally’s father j now, shipwrecked in fortune, what was 
he to say ? 

The old man struck a light, and slowly turned to the 
silent, almost trembling man. 

“ Well.” It was only one syllable, but oh ! how hard 
to answer. 

“Deacon Knapp, Sally and I have agreed. No, its all 


sally’s choice. 


6i 


my own doings. I want to marry your daughter. I’ve 
nothing in the world to offer but a strong pair of hands, 
and an honest love.” 

“Well.” 

If Griswold had been guilty of neglect, the punishment 
was awful. Could the old man say nothing but “well.” 

“ Well, why I want her father’s consent and blessing, 
that’s all.” 

“ You could have had that any time you’d asked for 
it these four years.” He struck his hand into that of the 
sailor. “ May the God of our fathers’ bless you both. I 
love money as much as most men do, but I love an honest 
heart and sound principles better, and I believe you’ve 
got both. Captain Griswold.” 

There was a slight rustle at the door, which did not 
escape the Deacon’s ear. 

“ Come in, Sally, and act reasonable. I’m going to 
bed in five minutes, but first — ” And as the Deacon spoke, 
he took down from a shelf an old, carefully studied Bible, 
and laid it on the table, putting on a pair of horn glasses. 
“ Jist call the help. We’ll read a chapter of the blessed 
Book, and ask a favor of the Almighty on this poor, suf- 
fering, dimmicrat-ridden country of our’n, before we say 
good-night.” 



CHAPTER VI. 

EPH. 

“ And there’s a nice youngster of excellent pith — 

Fate tried to conceal him by naming him Smith ; 

But he shouted a song for the brave and the free — 

Just read on his medal, ‘ My Country ’ of thee ! ” 

Holmes. 

PHRAIM DODGE was the son of a poor ne’er- 
do-well ” inhabitant of the village. When a 
boy, he had been taken into tlie family of Dr. 
Spencer to do odd “ chores,” as the current 
Yankee word expressed it, and to make himself generally 
useful — a servant he never considered himself. In his 
own opinion he formed an integral portion of the family. 
The Doctor, to whom teaching was a passion, had labored 
to instil all that he himself knew into the shrewd-headed 
boy, but in vain. Not that Eph. did not possess the 
necessary intellect, for in that respect he was uncommonly 
gifted, but it did not show itself in book-learning. In .all 
things that concerned a bargain, in making the most of the 
Doctor’s little farm, in buying for him the best cows at 
the lowest price, and selling them at the highest rate, when 
they ceased giving milk, in such things he had no equal. 
It was, however, all done with an eye to his own personal 



EPH. 


63 


advantage ; a circumstance which provoked Mrs. Spen- 
cer’s loud-spoken indignation, and was to the Doctor a 
never-failing source of the keenest enjoyment. What 
Eph. did with his money, was, and always had been, a 
mystery. There were no Savings Banks in those days, nor 
was Eph. known to be an investor in any of the ordinary 
securities of the times. He was grudgingly liberal to his 
father, but required him to account strictly for every dollar 
advanced. When questioned as to his means, his answers 
were short and reserved. “ He guessed he’d take as good 
care of the little he had, as any one he knew of.” At least 
those were his sentiments. Perhaps the strong passion of 
the man’s nature was for Edward Mason. Although sev- 
eral years younger, he had been his playmate, and looked 
up to him with the homage a little boy always pays to a 
big boy. He kept up a correspondence with him at long 
intervals, writing shrewd, clever letters, full of local gossip, 
and intimating rather than actually stating his full under- 
standing of the relationship which existed between Sibyl 
and himself. In person Ephraim was rather above middle 
height, and although slight, was remarkable for his strength 
and activity. His clear cold blue eye, and curly light 
brown hair marked his genuine Saxon descent. 

It was on a bright, lovely morning, the dew still fresh 
upon the grass, that Eph. accosted the Doctor who was 
sauntering up and down the little grass plot by the side of 
the house drinking in the fragrance of the June flowers 
before entering upon the labors of the day. 

“ I guess,” said the man suddenly, stopping in front of 
the Doctor, “ I’ve made a bargain for you this morning.” 

“ How so, Eph. ? ” asked the Doctor, looking at him 


64 


SIBYL SPENCER. 


kindly as he stood before him, his hat on the back of his 
head, opening and shutting the blade of a large jack-knife, 
and occasionally varying the operation by picking his 
teeth with it. 

“ Why, I’ve traded that short-horn cow of our’n with 
Major Bailey for his brindle heifer and five dollars to boot. 
That’s all ! ” 

There was an air of supreme satisfaction in Eph.’s 
manner as if the transaction was one the difficulty of 
which insured high commendation. 

“ Of course you told the Major,” said the Doctor with 
a twinkle in his eye, “ that the old cow let run her milk ? ” 

“ Well, no,” answered the other, “ he didn’t ask me.’‘ 

“ Now, look here, my boy, I have no objection to your 
making a good bargain for me — on the contrary, I profit 
by it. But none of my flock must say I took advantage of 
them.” 

“ Did he tell me his’n was a kicker ? ” asked Eph, 
deeply exploring the recesses of his moiith. 

“ Does she kick ? ” 

“ The worst in the township. I went over to the Ma- 
jor’s twice at milking-time, kinder neighbor-like, and so 
took in the situation.” 

“ If that is the case, how am I benefited ? ” said the 
Doctor rather angrily. 

Eph. retained the same imperturbable coolness. 

“ A piece of rope won’t cost you more nor ten cents.” 

“ What am I to do with a piece of rope ? Hang the 
creature ? 

“ Tie her hind legs, she can’t kick then,” continued 
Eph. 


EPH. 65 

“ Why did not Bailey dt) that ? and why did you not 
tell him of so simple a remedy ? ” 

“ Can’t say,” said the man. “ In the first place he 
didn’t ask me, and it wasn’t part of my business to interfere 
with his women folk.” 

The Doctor laughed and turned to enter the house. 

“ Hadn’t we better,” continued the man in the same 
imperturbable tone, “ settle that ‘ five dollar ’ business ? ” 

“ That’s easily done,” said the Doctor stopping and 
extending his hand. 

“ Well now, you see, I didn’t get the five dollars in 
money exactly.” 

“ So?” 

“ I owed a bill to the Major’s for sundries, and he paid 
himself on account. 

“ So,” said the Doctor, “ you owe me that amount.” 

“ Well, not exactly. You see, when I paid for the 
painting of the old chaise, Leach took that one-year-old 
hog of mine in part pay of his bill. So I just put one 
agin the other. Do you see ? ” 

“ I see somehow or another that I have not got the five 
dollars,” said the Doctor, turning to enter the house. 

Ephraim was too good a tactician to prolong a useless 
discussion. “ So Ed. and Sibyl have come together at 
last, have they ? ” he continued, again arresting the Doc- 
tor on his way to the door. 

“Yes, thanks be to the Almighty Disposer of all 
things,” said the Doctor. “ Are you not pleased, my boy ? ” 

“ Guess it went a little agin the grain with the old lady, 
didn’t it ? ” asked Ephraim, in rather a more drawling tone 
than usual. 


5 


66 


SIBYL SPENCER. 


The Doctor looked at him with astonishment. 

“ Why, my wife loves Edward as if he were her own 
son,” he said at length. 

“ May be ! But it doesn’t follow that she’d wish to turn 
the relationship into that of ‘son-in-law,’ does it?” 

“ What do you mean ? ” said the old gentleman. 
“ Speak out plainly, can you not ? ” 

“ It always appeared to me as if she’d sot her cap for 
Mr. Hamilton. Remember, I only think so.” 

“ Pshaw ! ” said the Doctor, half angrily yet still greatly 
amused. 

This conversation had taken place within a few feet of 
the open dining-room windows, one of the blinds of which 
was pushed back, and Mrs. Spencer leaned out — 

“ Why cannot you take a basket and get me some eggs 
at the store, Ephraim, if you think there are none in the 
barn.” 

“ Well, I don’t know nothing to hinder,” he answered, 
following with his eyes the Doctor’s retreating figure. 

It was full a minute before he moved, and then, while 
still within sight of the lady, he only lounged along, sing- 
ing in a low but perfectly audible voice, a verse from 
one of the old psalms then only used in New England 
churches : 


“ Great was the work, the neighbors cried, 
And owned the power divine ; 

Great was the work, my heart replied, 
And be the glory thine.” 


It was impossible for the Doctor to keep his counte- 
nance, and he entered the dining-room convulsed with 


EPH. 


67 


laughter, only to find his wife, as far as her sweet temper 
would allow, in a violent rage, and his daughter covered 
with blushes. 

“ How is it possible. Doctor,” said his wife, “ you can 
permit such familiarity towards you ! It all comes from 
your persisting in remaining in this little country town, 
where neither your talents nor your character have free 
scope. If I had had my way, you would have been as 
prominent in your line as our neighbor, Mr. Plamilton, is 
in his ! ” 

“ My dear,” said the Doctor gently, “ no one loves or 
admires Mr. Hamilton more than I do : no one envies him 
less. As for the ‘ familiarity,’ as you call it of that boy, it is 
only humor, a little broad, I admit, but still very innocent. 
He is devoted in his attachment to our family, and I am 
sure we all feel towards him as if he were in reality a mem- 
ber of it.” 

“ Oh, I don’t deny,” replied Mrs. Spencer, “ that Eph- 
raim possesses many good qualities, but I find fault with 
his excessive familiarity.” 

“ That, my dear, is one of the consequences of our 
American education. You can never make them servants. 
As it is, he does the work of three men, but to a certain 
extent license of speech must be allowed.” 

“ But to think,” continued Mrs. Spencer, “of his daring 
to say ‘ I set my cap for Mr. Hamilton for our Sibyl ? ’” 

“ Well, my dear, that is a question we will not discuss, 
— I fear my testimony would be adverse to your wishes.” 

As the Doctor uttered this last sentence he left the 
room, exchanging a smile with his daughter. 

There was a pause, during which Mrs. Spencer busied 


68 


SIBYL SPENCER. 


herself in washing the breakfast things, and handed them 
to her daughter to wipe and put away. 

“ Dear me,” at last said the old lady, “ this blue set is 
getting terribly broken. There are hardly plates enough 
for the family when we are alone.” 

“Yes, mother,” said Sibyl, evidently thinking of far 
different things than a broken set of old India china. 

“ I wonder if your father could not get one of those 
India merchants to import him enough to complete the set.?” 

“I greatly fear, mother, that we shall suffer for many 
things much more necessary than India china if this war 
lasts,” answered Sibyl. 

“ Plague take the war, and the hateful democrats who 
brought it on. You know, Sibyl, I always intended giving 
you my white china, with the gold edges, when you were 
married.” 

“ Yes, mother.” 

“ It is as handsome as any I have ever seen, in any of 
the grand houses in New Haven. Ah, me ! ” she con- 
tinued with a deep sigh, “ I did hope to see my daughter 
take her station in the world, but I must submit.” 

“ Mother, dear mother,” said Sibyl, “ why will you say 
those things — why do you wound me .? ” 

“ Wound you ? what is there to wound you, in saying 
that I had hoped to see you take a high station in society .? ” 

“ Can you not feel how sad it makes me, to think, that 
when I am about to marry the man I love, my mother harps 
on other plans as chimerical as the hues of the rainbow.” 

“ Chimerical .? ” said Mrs. Spencer; “ I am not so sure of 
that, Sibyl. I believe you had only to say yes and you 
would have been the first lady in the State.” 


EPH. 


69 


“ But, mother, admitting you may be right,” answered 
her daughter blushing deeply, “ would you have me marry 
a man no matter how much I might admire and respect 
him, whom I do not love ? ” 

“ Well, now, Sibyl, that is the very point with which I 
find fault ; no, not fault, but which I am sorry about ; why 
did you not love him ? I am sure he is a man everybody 
must admire.” 

“ Answer me one question, mother — When 3^011 mar- 
ried father, was it only because you admired him ? ” 

“ Why, you foolish child, your father and I loved one 
another when we were little children.” 

Mrs. Spencer brightened, as the memories of past days 
came freshly to her. 

“ Your father, my dear, was even then a remarkable man 
— I may say he was so before he became one.” 

Carried away as she was by her enthusiasm, it was 
impossible for Sibyl to resist a smile at the naivete of her 
mother’s remark. 

And now, mother, would you, with all these sweet 
memories clustering around you, would you have me sacri- 
fice such as these for the paltry ambition of an exalted 
station in society ? There is a higher, there is a nobler life, 
one in which self is forgotten — one in which all the secret 
feelings of the heart become to us plain realities ; one, 
mother, which you must know — one you have felt. You 
must have heard — ” 

“ I should think I had,” interrupted the old lady. “ Do 
you think I have been married almost thirty years, to the 
greatest divine in New England, and have heard him 
preach morning and evening every Sabbath day, and do 


70 


SIBYL SPENCER. 


not know something about a higher life ? Why you must 
take me for a fool ! ” 

“ Oh ! I mean more than that.” 

“ More than Heaven, child ? ” 

“ Certainly not, dear mother, nothing can be higher 
than where God sits. But I mean a higher life here on 
earth. A life in which objective thoughts, and hopes and 
fears, are lost and buried in the deep subjective of the 
future.” 

“ Not meaning to interrupt you, Sibyl, if that boy 
Ephraim has not brought home those eggs, I shall not be 
able to make that custard for dinner ; and I should not 
like to let Edward think I neglect him, and you remember 
how much he has always liked my custard.” 

As she said this, the old lady, who was deeply learned 
in objective things, bustled out of the room, leaving her 
daughter, half inclined to laugh and half to cry. Left 
alone, Sibyl drew her chair by the open window, and gazed 
over the long meadows, sleeping in the hazy light of the 
summer morning. Ardent, enthusiastic, poetic in her 
nature, she felt all the longing which such a nature must 
feel, to have a second self, into which she could breathe as 
it were, the undeveloped thoughts and feelings of her own 
heart. How long she had sat there, she did not know, 
when a low voice said in her ear, 

“ Why, lovely infidel, how now, 

What clouds that unbelieving brow ? ” 

Edward had approached quietly the window by which 
she was seated, and leaning his arms on the side was within 


EPH. 71 

a foot of her, without her knowledge, so absorbed was her 
reverie. 

“ No, Edward,” she said with a start, “ I am no infidel, 
in any thing which concerns faith, or love, or trust in you. 
I was only dreaming, dreaming in the very ecstasy of my 
own happiness.” 

“ And what was ‘ Love’s young dream ? ’ — make me a 
sharer in your thoughts 

Sibyl passed her hand caressingly over her lover’s 
brown curls, as she said : 

“ Have you never, dear, in listening to one of those old 
symphonies I am so fond of playing, felt as if there was 
a something which you could not put in words, which no 
language could interpret, something higher, holier, deeper 
than any expression of man ? So it has been with me, ever 
since you told me that you loved me. I have felt as if 
the deep yearning of my woman’s nature had become 
strengthened, and that I should seek to lose myself, and 
become only centred and bound up, now and forever, in 
you and you only.” 

“ Sibyl, my own darling, it is most charming to have 
you tell me such things. I do not know what you mean 
by secret sympathies or unspoken language ; but I do know 
that I love you as my very self. I could stand all day and 
look into those sweet brown eyes, hold this little soft white 
hand, and whisper only ‘ I love.’ But, dearest, you are 
too poetical for a nature like mine.” 

“ Oh, no, Edward ! ” said Sibyl bending down until her 
cheek touched that of her lover, “ it is not poetry, it is 
only the depth of a woman’s love.” 

How much longer this little scene might have lasted 


72 


SIBYL SPENCER. 


is doubtful, had not Ephraim intruded himself into the 
apartment. There was something very comical in the 
bashful, shy way in which the usually forward young man 
entered the room. It was a very serious duty he had 
come to perform. He had not as yet offered his congratu- 
lations to either Sibyl or Edward. 

You see now, Ed., I didn’t get any chance to say no- 
thing to either of you yesterday, and I couldn’t have you 
think you were neglected.” 

Sibyl blushed deeply as she turned and held out her 
hand to the young man. 

“ I felt certain, Eph., w’e had a friend in you, who would 
sympathize in our happiness. Believe me, there is no one 
whose congratulations give me more pleasure.” 

“ I ain’t much at making fine speeches, Sibyl, but I have 
lived pretty much in this house, like my own father’s. That 
wouldn’t be saying much, you see, as I’ve taken care of the 
old man for ten years ; but I do hope God will bless you 
and yours.” 

Rough peasant as he was, Edward had never wrung a 
more honest hand. 

But there was something more to be said, there was a 
question to be met, far more serious, and one which 
Ephraim’s prosaic nature appreciated keenly. 

“Ned, you see, I don’t think when any thing important’s 
to be done, that the wife should not be consulted, and I 
look upon our Sibyl now, as standing in that relation to 
you, as much as if you had been called three times.” 

Edward laughed as he answered, “ You are quite right, 
Sibyl does and will stand in that relation as long as life 
doth last.” 


EPH. 


73 


Eph. drew a chair to the window and seating himself, 
bent over so that his head was close to those of the two 
young people, as he spoke in a low but very solemn tone — 

“Ye see, when I went over to the store to get them 
eggs for madam, I found there had been a kind of meeting 
of the young men last evening. I suppose you didn't know 
nothing about it, as you two were walking in the long 
meadow in the moonshine — did ye ? ” 

“ How did you know any thing if you were watching us 
so closely ? ” said Edward angrily. 

“ Now don't get riled ; you see they sent me word 
they wanted me to act as moderator like ; but I kinder 
thought I would see how the cat jumped first. Well, the 
long and the short of it is, that they are going to send a 
committee to ax you if you will command a company, if 
the boys engage to enlist for the war." 

Sibyl grew ghastly pale, and her hands clasped them- 
selves convulsively together as they lay in her lap. 

Edward felt that the crisis of his life was at hand. 

“ Well, my dear fellow, you know as well as I, that if 
they enlist, the government will muster them in any regi- 
ment it pleases, without regard to wishes or feelings." 

“ You see, now," continued Ephraim, “ that is jist the 
p'int — we ain’t a-going to serve either under a southern 
chap nor under a dimmicrat nuther." 

“'What earthly objection can you have,” interrupted 
Edward, “ to an officer being a democrat in politics ?" 

“ Well, we won’t discuss it,” said the other with a motion 
of his hand. “ Most generally they prefer to serve in the 
“ home guards." But as to them southerners, when that 
’ere chap said in Congress, ‘ The north should find the men, 


74 


SIBYL SPENCER. 


and the south the officers to command them,’ we kinder 
thought we would show them there was some of the old 
stock left in Connecticut yet.” 

“ Well, Eph., if a commission'can be had,” said Edward 
slowly, and without raising his eyes to Sibyl’s, “ I think 
they have placed me in a position from which a man can- 
not retire with honor. What do you intend doing ? ” 

“ Pretty much what you does. Ye see, when we three 
trained in that field, you was always captain, Sibyl carried 
the flag, and I beat the drum — guess I'll stick to my 
colors.” 

“ And you, Sibyl — ^you, my darling, what do you say ? ” 
asked Edward, taking the little soft white hand in his, and 
pressing it to his lips. 

Sibyl’s voice choked in her effort to keep down the sobs 
that would come. 

‘‘ Go, Edward— go,my love, my husband, if duty or honor 
call. But oh ! Gracious Father, hold him in Thy keeping j 
or if he must fall a sacrifice on his country’s altar — wash 
him pure in the ‘ deep Jordan of Thy Love ! ’ ” 



CHAPTER VII. 

WAR OR PEACE. 

“ All that a sister State should do, all that a free State may, 

Heart, hand and purse we proffer, as in our early day; 

But that one dark, loathsome burden ye must stagger with alone. 
And reap the bitter harvest which ye yourselves have sown.” 

Whittier. 

YEAR had elapsed. The regiment to which 
Edward Mason was attached was stationed on 
the Canada line near the head of Lake Cham- 
plain. So far his company had been kept to- 
gether, and, save a few trifling skirmishes, had seen little 
or no active service. He had benefited in no slight de- 
gree by this period of inaction, for he had devoted himself 
to the study of his new profession, and had the reward of 
knowing that the soldiers of his company were better 
drilled and more orderly than any in the division. 

Congress had made a second call for troops, and the 
administration, still untaught by the blunders of a previous 
year, had again attempted in New England the ruinous 
policy of drafting the militia into the regular army. The 
passions of the people were again lashed into fury, and 
dark threats broke out of separate and divided action on 
the part of the New England States, supported as they 
were strongly by both New Jersey and New York. Ed- 
ward Mason, to his surprise, was ordered to report to the 

( 75 ) 



76 


SIBYL SPENCER. 


commanding officer in New York city, and was allowed a 
few days’ leave of absence, which he improved by spending 
a night at D . 

He was shocked to see the effect which so short a time 
had produced in his old and respected friend. Dr. Spen- 
cer, although still but little over sixty, was very feeble, a 
disease but little understood by the medical skill of the 
day having attacked the vital functions. It required no 
experienced eye to foresee that unless some unexpected 
change should take place, his days were numbered. 

Even Sibyl’s joy at again seeing her lover hardly ex- 
ceeded that of the Doctor. His voice trembled, his eyes 
filled with tears, as he clasped the young man’s hand and 
gazed at him long and lovingly. 

“ I hardly dared to hope that I should see you again, 
my son. My heart is too full for utterance. I can only 
praise God’s holy name.” 

The deep interest which Dr. Spencer took in all that 
related to the progress of the war, and the many questions , 
he asked about the various movements of the troops, soon 
exhausted his strength, and Edward left him to the care of 
his wife. 

Sibyl’s nature was too concentrated to allow her to be 
very demonstrative, but there was a light in her eyes, a 
tremulous softness in the clasp of her hand, which spoke a 
language the heart soon learns to read. It was inexpres- 
sibly sweet to wander under the big elms hour after hour, 
to see the light of love beam in the eyes of the girl who 
clung to his arm, to feel so w^ell that which words can never 
tell. It was with a start that the lovers awoke to find 
that the long summer day had been all too short. 


WAR OR PEACE. 


77 


Deacon Knapp had heard of Edward’s arrival, and, 
anxious to see him, had walked over with his son-in-law to 
the parsonage. 

Sally had been married more than a year, and had set- 
tled down as a sober matron. 

A little scion of the house of Griswold made the old 
homestead resound with his cries, and was the delight of 
his grandfather. 

Griswold himself was restless and uneasy. A sailor 
never entirely shakes oi¥ that love of adventure and excite- 
ment which soon becomes his second nature. This feeling 
was increased in the young man by the ovations which his 
townsmen and fellow-sailors were everywhere receiving for 
their successes on the ocean. Fond and happy with his 
wife, an honest, industrious, true-hearted man, still he 
longed to make one of the brave band who were carrying 
their country’s flag in triumph. His wife saw all this with 
the quick eye of a woman who loves, saw it and sighed, 
but felt she was powerless to resist 

To her astonishment she found her father shared in his 
feelings. It was not in the Deacon’s nature to speak, but 
every time an account came of another victory, he looked 
at his son-in-law as if wondering he could remain at home. 

Griswold chafed under it like a chained lion. 

“ Now, Edward, my boy,” said the Deacon, as the two 
entered the room in which tea was being prepared, “you’ve 
come back to us, have ye .? Ye didn’t do much up on the 
Canada line, but you were in the way of trying, and that’s 
something.” 

“ No,” answered Edward with a laugh, warmly shaking 
the old man’s hand ; “ we certainly have not covered our- 


SIBYL SPENCER. 


78 

selves with glory there, but at any rate we were willing to 
try, as you say.” 

“ Well, that’s something, — praise the Lord ! ” muttered 
the old man. “ There’s no knowing what may happen if 
you keep on in that way. ’ 

“ Edward tells me,” said Dr. Spencer, “ that the great 
difficulty lies in the want of organization in every depart- 
ment — the utter absence of any head. That it is not so 
much the want of military skill as of a firm and controll- 
ing hand.” 

“ Tell now,” said the Deacon, taking up his leg and 
nursing it fondly ; “ I had heard ye didn’t get your supplies 
regular.” 

“ Supplies,” said Edward, ‘‘we had an abundance of 
every thing we did not need, and frequently a total absence 
of the barest necessaries of life. Do you know, sir,” turn- 
ing to Dr. Spencer, “ the day before I left, a train of wag- 
ons reached Chateaugay, where my regiment is encamped 
in the midst of an almost primeval forest, laden with tent 
poles, and they had brought them all the way from Wash- 
ington. Tent poles, and there was not flour or pork 
enough in camp to feed the division for a week.” 

“ People say,” said Griswold, “ that our new secretary. 
General Armstrong, is a thoroughly educated soldier. 
Perhaps he can bring order out of this chaos.” 

“ Heaven knows it is wanted,” replied the other. “ It 
is no breach of military duty to say that every general in 
the army is at loggerheads with the other — that there is no 
discipline nor, what is even more needed, no good morals 
among the commanders.” 

“ It is sad,” said the Doctor, “ to be obliged to sit still 


WAR OR PEACE. 79 

and see evil counsels and intriguing politicians sap the 
foundations of ‘ Time’s noblest empire.’ ” 

“ Well, you see now, Doctor,” said the Deacon, “ this 
all comes of forgetting the service of the Lord. I’m not 
going to say any thing ag’in the constituted authorities. 
They’re sot over us in the flesh, and we’re bound to give 
them honor. But this I do say, when we see a large pro- 
portion of the people bowing down to Belial and worship- 
ping the man of sin, a-willing to be bound to the chariot 
wheels of this Bonaparte, I feel as if the blood of the men 
who testified before the council and in the field — the men 
who came over here when this was nothing better than a 
howling wilderness, rather than acknowledge the ‘ scarlet 
woman ’ — would like to burst in my veins.” 

“ Why, Deacon,” said Griswold, “ I never heard you 
say such things before.” 

“ Nor would you now, my son, but there is a p’int where 
human nature can’t stand these things no longer and keep 
silence.” 

“ Dr. Spencer ” — the old man was excited, but there was 
something grand in the very intensity of his nature, and in 
the strong feelings which had now broken down the re- 
serve of a lifetime — “ Dr. Spencer, my religion and my 
education have made me a law-abiding citizen. In my 
humble way I helped to build up this country ; I shed 
my blood at Brandywine, and at the Cow Pens, to strike 
at tyranny in high places. I would shed it now, to the 
last drop, if the cause was a just one. It was freedom 
then we fought for — is it for freedom we are asked now 
to give our children and our money ? ” 

“ Hush ! hush, my old friend,” said the Doctor, “ such 


8o 


SIBYL SPENCER. 


men as you must not speak, nay, not even cultivate 
such doctrines in times like these. Our rulers may not 
be such as we would have chosen, but they are our 
rulers. This country is our country, not sectional, but one 
common heritage : would you divide and break up into 
factions what should be a common unit ? ” 

“ Deacon Knapp,” said Griswold, “ I am your son-in- 
law ; I returned here a poor broken-down sailor ; you gave 
me your daughter, your home has been my home, your fire- 
side my fireside. In politics as in religion I agree with 
you, but by the God of my fathers, the bright flag of my 
country shall not be torn down ! I can stand this no 
longer. Right or wrong, I enter the service to-morrow.” 

“ Well, now, Sammy,” replied the Deacon growing calm 
and speaking in his natural tone, you don’t astonish 
me much. I have been a kind of wondering you haven’t 
been there before. I know it’s hard to leave our Sally, 
not to speak of the boy. But it’s nature in us Yankees, as 
those southern chaps call us, to strike for the flag.” 

“ But, Deacon Knapp,” said Sibyl, speaking for the 
first time since she had entered the room, “ is there not a 
battle-field into which age can enter, and in which even 
women can play their part ? ” 

“ I do not quite take your meaning, child,” replied the 
Deacon. 

“ I mean,” said the girl flushing with the excitement of 
the moment, “ is there not here at home, here in the quiet 
villages of New England, a contest going on, far more 
dangerous to the future of our country than any which 
stains with blood the fields of Canada? Is there not, I ask 
you at this moment, an effort being made to separate the 


WAR OR PEACE. 


8l 


New England States from the common country ? And is it 
not our duty, the duty of all, weak helpless women, of you 
old men, of infancy itself, to resist this impulse, to give our- 
selves and all we possess to the cause of our country, and 
to support this war, even though we know it to be a wicked 
and an unholy war ? ” 

“ She speaks truly. Deacon,” said the Doctor. “ The 
resolutions which have passed the houses of assembly, the 
tone of our State rulers themselves, honest, patriotic men 
as I believe them to be, this determination to abide by the 
law, but only by the letter of the law, all shows that a 
crisis is at hand.” 

“ Well,” answered the other, “ I expect you’re right ; 
more than that, I know you’re right. But now doesn’t it 
strike you as a little hard, that we New Englanders — we 
that gave five men in the Revolution to every one the 
south gave — we that pay at this minute more than one half 
the taxes — we, and the Yorkers who feel as we do, at least 
the best of ’em do, that we should be plunged into war with 
a country we love, with a people as has the same religion, 
as reads the same books, as has the same laws, whose 
fathers were our fathers, whose names are our names, to 
say nothing of our manners and customs. I ask you now, 
if it isn’t a little hard to keep up a Christian feeling in our 
breasts ! ” 

“ My dear old friend,” said Dr. Spencer, “ there is at the 
bottom of this Union of ours, lying far down in its very 
foundations, a curse, a weakness, to which even the lion- 
hearted men who framed our constitution were subservient, 
and it must be worked out. I mean slavery. For the 
moment, I waive its inhumanity, its wickedness (for it is 


82 


SIBYL SPENCER. 


wicked, and God will curse it !), but view it in a political 
point only — it cannot be that a nation of freemen will 
permit themselves to be ruled and governed by the slave 
vote.” 

“ Do you not think,” said Edward, “ that this question of 
slave representation is at the bottom of all the political 
movements which have agitated this country for the last 
twenty years ? ” 

“ I do my boy — I know it has been the one solitary 
point to which the South, as a mass, have most tenaciously 
clung. At this moment it is bringing sorrow and suffering 
into a thousand peaceful families, but like all wrongs, and 
it is a great wrong, it is working its own cure.” 

“ The ways of Providence,” said the Deacon, “ are not 
man’s ways, nor can we find them out. But in my poor 
judgment there is but little good in letting every man who 
owns three niggers have one more vote than I have, simply 
because he owns those niggers.” 

“ Are we not begging the question,” said Sibyl. “ It is 
not the slave vote which is wrong, but slavery itself. Gan 
an Infinite and good God hear unmoved the wail of the 
meanest of his creatures } ” 

“ My child,” said the old Pastor rising in his chair, 
“ as long as man’s greed and selfishness can be gratified, 
so long will he look unmoved on any scene of suffering. 
Our New England merchants furnished ships and capital 
for the slave trade ; the free States at this moment send 
out thousands of adventurers to make new plantations all 
over the south to be worked by slave labor. As long as 
our voice was supreme in the councils of the land, just so 
long did we ignore slavery and its evils. But now that we 


WAR OR PEACE. 


83 


are in the minority — that we no longer stand first in the 
land, now the scales have fallen from our eyes and we see 
the light of truth even as blind Bartimaeus saw it as he 
sat by the way-side begging.” 

“ I admit all you say, my dear sir,” said Edward, “ and I 
assert further, that here, where education exists — here in the 
midst of this free people — here where to labor is to be re- 
spected and to be idle is a disgrace, a sentiment is growing 
hourly in the breasts of the people themselves, which will 
never be silenced, until the curse of slavery is extinguished 
in every section of the land.” 

“ God grant it ! ” said the Doctor, “ and he will grant it. 
I am a feeble man ; some inward voice tells me I am not 
to be long on earth. Perhaps it may be in the spirit of 
prophecy that I now speak ; but I firmly believe that, as 
the God of Abraham, by the hand of his servant Moses, 
brought his chosen people from the house of bondage, just 
so surely will He, in his own good time, rend the manacles 
from the Ethiopian’s outstretched arms. How it will be 
done He only knows — probably in blood, in misery and 
war. And I as firmly believe what we now suffer is but 
preparatory to what we shall suffer for having consented, 
aye, weakly consented, to the enslaving of our fellow-men.” 


CHAPTER VIII. 


A PRISONER. 

“ The moon shone down on old Cro’ Nest, 

And mellowed the shades on his shaggy breast ; 

And seemed his giant form to throw 

In a silver cone on the waves below.” — D rake. 



I HE duty with which Edward Mason was 
charged was to take command of a party of 
recruits destined to fill up the vacancies in 
his own regiment. 

Transportation was furnished by sloop to Albany, and 
as he stood on the deck of the little vessel watching the 
preparations to sail, he saw his old friend Mr. Hamilton 
walking down the dock accompanied by a stranger. 

The greeting between Edward and the celebrated Con- 
necticut man was warm and friendly, more so on the part 
of the older than of the younger man. 

There had been something in Sibyl’s manner on the 
day when we first introduced her to our readers, a day on 
which Edward had, as it were, surprised her with Mr. 
Hamilton, which had aroused a strong feeling of jealousy 
in his breast. He knew it to be unjust. His reason and 
his heart told him he was the sole object of Sibyl’s love. 
But the passion had been excited, it only slumbered, it was 
not dead. 

Mr. Hamilton noticed the reserve on the young man’s 
( 84 ) 


A PRISONER. 


85 


part with a melancholy smile. Their short conversation 
was soon over, and he again turned to his companion. 
They talked long and earnestly, and Edward noticed that 
he himself was for some little time the subject of their re- 
marks. The bustle of departure, the requirements of his 
duty, most of the recruits being drunk and many dis- 
orderly, drove the circumstance from his mind, and it was 
not until late in the evening, just as the sloop was entering 
the Highlands, that chance again threw him into close 
company with the stranger. The latter was a man of 
about forty, strongly built, although not over medium 
height, with an intellectual face, deep, serious, melancholy 
eyes, and an expression of great firmness about his mouth 
and chin. His dress was the ordinary garb of a civilian 
of the day. Plain, almost too plain, and yet worn as if not 
the ordinary dress to which he was accustomed. He was 
seated on a stool, leaning over the bulwarks of the sloop, 
apparently watching , the shadowy outlines of the moun- 
tains just being brought into view by the rising moon. 
As Edward drew near, he greeted him courteously and 
motioned him to take a seat by him. 

“ My old friend, Mr. Hamilton,” he said, “ tells me 
you are a lawyer by profession, a strong Federalist, and yet 
you were prompted by love of country to enter the army. 
How do you like your new life ? ” 

“ As much as I have seen of it,” answered Edward, “ I 
must frankly say I detest.” 

“ Well,” said the other with a haughty laugh, “ one 
would not say you were the stuff out of which to make a 
soldier.'* 

There was nothing offensive in the tone in which this 


86 


SIBYL SPENCER. 


was said, but Edward could not help a feeling of annoy- 
ance. 

“ I see by your dress that you are not a soldier ; but 
can there be any thing very agreeable to an educated man 
in spending all his days in the minutiae of camp life — 
half of his time passed in drilling and the other half in 
superintending the clothes, the food, even the personal 
cleanliness of a set of men, too much like children either 
to think or^act for themselves ? ” 

• “ Not much, I admit,” said the other ; “ but one must 
commence at the lowest round of the ladder, before one 
can reach the top. Thee has had but little experience, 
I presume, with any thing but this minutiae. Has thee 
ever been under fire ? ” 

“ Only once, and then but for a moment,” replied Ed- 
ward, ‘‘ and I trust, as some of these men I am now watch- 
ing are coming into my regiment, I may have time to break 
them in a little before I am again under fire.” 

“ They are not a bad lot,” said the other, carelessly 
lighting a cigar as he spoke. 

“ I wish they were all Americans,” said Edward ; “ the 
majority of them are Irish, and many of them deserters 
from English regiments into the bargain.” 

‘‘ So I supposed as I looked at their faces and way of 
marching. The scoundrels will fight none the better for 
having a rope round their necks.” 

“ Will England,” asked Edward, carry out her threat 
and hang all deserters she captures ? ” 

“ Why not,” said the other quickly; “ would we not do 
the same ? Is not the claim put forward on the part of 
our government that this war is fought to prevent the 


A PRISONER. 


87 


impressment of American seamen, and do we not, by so 
doing, assert the right not only to protect, but to command 
the services of our own citizens? Does thee think Wash- 
ington would have hesitated to hang the traitor ‘ Arnold,’ 
had he fallen in his power ? Thy former profession should 
have taught thee that crime is the same, no matter what 
the rank of the offender.” 

“ Certainly,” said Edward, “ I admit the truth of your 
argument. My question was more directed to the policy of 
the government than to the legal right ; and I now ask, 
will our government carry out its threat of reprisals, should 
the English general hang any of the deserters they may 
recapture in arms against them ? ” 

“ They say so,” the stranger answered ; “ my young 
acquaintance, it is very easy for men who sit in high places 
to issue orders, which bring them into no personal danger. 
Tell me now, something of the country in which you are 
stationed ; what are its military features, and what its re- 
sources ? ” 

As Edward sketched rapidly an outline of the Chateau- 
gay country, his companion listened with deep attention. 
His questions were few but pertinent, his manner calm 
and commanding, to which Edward insensibly yielded. At 
times he would relapse into the Quaker dialect, yet ev- 
idently he was any thing but a ‘ man of peace.’ He pointed 
out to Edward the beauties of the river, naming headland 
after headland as they came slowly into view, clothing 
many of them with wild Indian legends, or quaint old 
Dutch story, always told in the same low, soft voice, and 
with the same calm, concentrated air. He repelled any 
attempt at discovering who he \yas, and baffled Edward’s 


88 


SIBYL SPENCER. 


most ingenious speculations. The faint tinge of early 
dawn was breaking, when the sloop burst as it were 
through the barrier of mountains and entered Newburgh 
Bay. When opposite that then thriving little village, the 
vessel was brought to, and her only boat manned. The 
captain intimated to the stranger that she awaited his 
orders. 

“ My young friend,” he said, holding out his hand to 
Edward, “ we may meet again ; should such ever happen, 
remember you have made a friend of Jacob Brown.” 

The rest of Edward’s voyage presented nothing re- 
markable. 

Almost immediately after joining his regiment, a for- 
ward movement was ordered in the direction of the Canada 
line. 

The division to which he belonged was under the im- 
mediate command of Major-General Hampton, a gentle- 
man by birth and a native of South Carolina. General 
Hampton had served with credit in the Revolutionary 
war, but age and long inactivity had unfitted him for active 
duty. The entire force was four thousand effective infan- 
try and a well equipped train of artillery. 

The order to move was hailed with joy, and to Ed- 
ward’s regiment was given the privilege of the advance 
guard. The first day’s march was extremely severe, being 
twenty-four miles, but it brought them to an open country, 
and almost within striking distance of the enemy under 
General Prevost. Edward was in command of the advance 
guard, and had been so fortunate as to capture several 
prisoners, whom he sent into head-quarters. From the 
men so taken, he learned that the enemy barely numbered 


A PRISONER. 


89 


twenty-four hundred, and were mostly Canadian militia. 
Night closed in on the little army, hopeful and sanguine of 
success. Before them was the city of Montreal, masters of 
that, they divided the province. At this point. General 
Hampton determined to send one brigade, under Colonel 
Purdy, to the west of the Chateaugay river, a small stream, 
with orders to gain a ford eight miles below, then recross 
and attack the British commander in the rear, while the 
other brigade, under his own supervision, should attack in 
front. This united effort was to have been made at day- 
break, and Edward received orders to hold his company 
and one other that had been joined to his, in readiness to 
advance in front in open order as skirmishers, the signal 
being the sound of firing on his left. Hour after hour 
passed, noon came, and still no signs of Colonel Purdy or 
his brigade. A few useless shots had been fired during 
the morning between the pickets, but these had ceased. 

At this time General Izzard, the second in command, 
rode up, and closely questioned Edward as to what had oc- 
curred in front. It was soon told. Nothing ; absolutely 
nothing. 

“Take a dozen men with you. Captain Mason, and go 
carefully forward, to feel if the enemy are still in our front. 
Be careful ; and send back word from time to time.” 

“ Shall I hold the ground I make, or fall back ? ” asked 
Edward. 

“ Hold it, if possible, w'e will support you ; but do not 
go more than a mile.” 

Edward saluted, chose the men from his company, and 
advanced cautiously. Every thing was as quiet as the grave ; 
not a sign of the enemy. The birds twittered on the 


90 


SIBYL SPENCER, 


branches of the trees, and the landscape slumbered in all 
the beauty of an October afternoon. 

After walking rather more than a mile, Edward halted 
his little band, and sent one of the most intelligent men to 
the rear with his report. The men had scattered a little 
through the immediate vicinity, and Edward seated himself 
on the trunk of a fallen tree to watch. Hour after hour 
passed ; the silence was unbroken. 

Suddenly, in his front and on both flanks came the 
sound of bugles, sounding a charge. He called in his 
men, and fell back a little, waiting some further advance 
by the enemy. 

Again the same silence ; another hour passed, then 
another, when the same sound of bugles again broke the 
stillness of the night. Three times was this mysterious 
mode of warfare repeated, and yet not one human being 
had he either seen or heard. 

The long night passed. The men had with them rations 
for several days, and made themselves as comfortable as 
they could, under the circumstances. Edward did not dare 
to light any fires. 

When morning broke, the sound of sharp firing was 
heard in the rear, between his post and the main body. 
Although his orders were to hold the ground he had ob- 
tained, he still determined to take the responsibility of 
falling back a short distance towards his supports. He 
fell back ; no sign of a friend, and still the firing continued 
with more and more severity. 

Further and further Edward marched ; there were no 
supports, there was no army. He had been forgotten, and 
he and his little party were alone in the wilderness. Which 


A PRISONER. 


91 


way should he go ? Between him and his regiment there 
was evidently a strong body of the enemy, and he was un- 
der the impression that they had advanced round his right 
flank. He therefore determined to fall back, where he 
supposed Colonel Purdy’s brigade to be. The way was 
almost impracticable. Swamp succeeded swamp in endless 
succession. Just at nightfall he perceived a strong body 
of men. Were they friends or foes ? 

Advancing alone, very cautiously, he thought he distin- 
guished the uniform of the United States’ soldiers ; he 
could not be mistaken. 

Suddenly a voice called to him to halt. He was covered 
by a dozen muskets — he was a prisoner. Edward’s first 
thought w'as for his men. The sergeant with him was our 
old acquaintarice Eph., who had been promoted to that 
rank, and Edward felt great confidence in his sagacity and 
good sense. At any rate he could do nothing. He was civilly 
treated,and taken before the commanding officer, a soldierly- 
looking man in the uniform of a colonel of British infantry* 

As he stood in front of this officer in charge of a guard, 
the Colonel, who was seated on a log in front of a small 
fire, raised his eyes, and seeing an officer, slightly touched 
his cap. 

“ Ah ! a prisoner. Your rank, sir ? ” 

“ Captain, 8th infantry.” 

“ How came you in our rear ? ” 

“ Commanded the advanced pickets, and got separated 
from my command.” 

“ Will you join me in some spirits and water,” said the 
Colonel, extending a glass, and pointing to a bottle which 
stood near his feet. 


92 


SIBYL SPENCER. 


Edward gladly consented. He was faint with fatigue. 

“ Sit down,” continued the officer, “ and warm yourself. 
Have I your parole ? ” 

Edward nodded ; there was nothing else to do. 

“ Your commanding officer lost his head. Did you hear 
my bugles ? Sharp, was it not ? ” and he laughed until the 
tears stood in his eyes. At length he said, “ Let me pre- 
sent myself — Lieut.-Col. de Salsberry, Brig.-Gen. by brevet, 
and I have the honor, to etc., etc.” 

“ Captain Edward Mason.” 

“ Captain Mason, regret extremely, etc., make you as 
comfortable as we can, under the circumstances. No 
doubt one of these young gentlemen will play host. Now 
gentlemen,” and he spoke sharply, “ something else to be 
attended to.” 

Edward took the hint, and drew back. The young 
officer to whom the General had motioned, a fine soldierly- 
looking young man, gladly shared his supper with him, and 
with his feet to a watch-fire, and the stars for a canopy, 
Edward slept until the coming dawn re-echoed with the 
martial airs of England. 

He was then sent to the rear of the army, and with 
some few other prisoners, marched as rapidly as possible to 
a point on the St. Lawrence river, almost opposite to Mon- 
treal. 

As Edward stood musing, somewhat apart from his 
fellow-prisoners, carelessly watching the preparations made 
for their transportation, his arm was touched, and turning, 
he saw the young officer who had treated him so kindly 
the preceding evening. 

Mason was extremely struck with his appearance and 


A PRISONER. 


93 


manners. There was a simplicity in his air, joined to a 
careless negligence, almost amounting to indolence, which 
was different from any thing he had ever before seen. 

Captain Charles Harcourt, for such was his name, was 
about Edward’s age. He was considerably above medium 
height, and most powerfully built. His complexion was 
almost as dark as that of a Spaniard, large melancholy 
hazel eyes, a mouth denoting great strength of will, clean- 
cut features, and an air eminently high-bred and aristo- 
cratic. He wore a long mustache (most unusual at that 
time), which was dark like his hair, and his dress was the 
full uniform of his rank, and of the “ Guards,” the regiment 
to which he belonged. 

I have permission to take you with me,” he said, 
“and as I am sent to Quebec with dispatches for Sir 
George, you will find travelling with me more pleasant, I 
think, than marching under escort with the rest.” 

Edward assented gladly. 

“ Come along, then,” continued the other, “ and I will 
get you a cup of coffee, and you shall share my luck in 
the way of meals.” As he spoke, he led the way down to 
the river, where a very long birch-bark canoe, manned by 
eight Canadian voyageurs, was lying. In the stern of the 
canoe were spread several blankets and army cloaks, 
making a very comfortable half couch, half seat. 

“ Make yourself comfortable, we have a long journey 
before us,” said Harcourt, “ and I intend making myself 
quite a Yankee before we get to Quebec.” The men at 
the signal pushed into the stream, and the light little ves- 
sel danced on the surface of the dark St. Lawrence. Ed- 
ward caught at the side of the canoe, and held his breath, 


94 


SIBYL SPENCER. 


much to his companion’s amusement, who laughed heart- 
ily at his half-frightened, half-confused expression of coun- 
tenance. The men sat facing forward, and used a paddle 
instead of an oar, — keeping time perfectly and half rising 
to each stroke. It was not five minutes before one of 
them broke into a low monotonous song, the chorus of 
which was chanted by his companions. The language the 
men used was utterly incomprehensible to Mason, — now 
and then he could catch a French word, but the song was 
evidently in the patois of the country. All that he could 
understand led him to think it was an evening song to the 
Virgin. 

“ One of the partners of the ‘ Hudson Bay Company’ 
lent me this craft. The men have just brought him down 
the Lakes from Proctor’s army, now holding or trying to 
hold Detroit, I am not quite certain which,” he added with 
a laugh. “ These men have been in the service of the 
company for years, and except that twice a year they must 
have their spree, they are thoroughly reliable. I have 
promised them their fill of bad liquor, so we shall get 
to Quebec quicker than in any other way.” • 

The sun was sinking, making the heavens glow with 
colors, and lighting up the quaint farm-houses, and still 
more quaint little churches on the river bank. Each 
church was topped with its tiny cross of glittering gold. 
To Mason, the scene was novel in the extreme. The 
villages were few and scattered ; but the ground was cul- 
tivated, and there was more appearance of wealth than he 
had expected to find. He showed his surprise to his com- 
panion, who was much interested in his remarks. 

“ I have seen several of your countrymen. Captain 


A PRISONER. 


95 


Mason,” said Harcourt, “ and nice enough fellows they 
were, wanting somewhat, if you will let me speak plainly, 
in what we call knowledge of the world ; but what sur- 
prised me most was their utter absence of ideas regarding 
the scenery and characteristics of their own country. Not 
one seemed to care, whether there were mountains or 
rivers, woods or plains.” 

“ Do you know much more about the characteristics of 
Great Britain ? ” queried his companion. 

“ Of course we do,” said Harcourt ; “ no fellow has a 
vacation but he takes a run somewhere — to the lakes, up 
into Scotland, salmon-fishing, grouse-shooting, or some- 
thing of that sort.” 

“ That is all very well,” said Edward, “ but you do not 
remember that we have no separate class in rank and for- 
tune as you have. Not that there are not rich men, com- 
paratively I mean, here as well as with you ; but the bulk 
of our people are hard-working men, who concentrate all 
their energies in the effort to support their families, and 
lay by something for a future.” 

“ That is true, I did not think of that ; but even that 
does not account entirely for what I have said. Your pro- 
fessional men have holidays, do they not ? By the bye, 
you are not a soldier, I mean one by choice and profes- 
sion as I am, are you ? ” 

“ No, I am a lawyer ; but what of that ” asked Ed- 
ward. 

“ Nothing ; only I thought I missed the shop, as we 
say. Now you are an intelligent, well educated man, 
much more so than I am — has it ever occurred to you to 


96 


SIBYL SPENCER. 


take a trip to Niagara, to see the wide prairies, the mighty 
Mississippi of your native land ? ” 

“ Listen to me, Captain Harcourt.” 

“ Bother the Captain, call me Harcourt, ‘ for short,' as 
we used to say at Eton.” 

“Well,” said Mason, with a laugh, “ Harcourt, if you 
had been born in a half-civilized land, for putting my 
American pride in my pocket, and judging only by what 
I have read, we are but half-civilized ; if from your ear- 
liest childhood, big rivers and rough granite hills, giant 
trees, and almost primeval forests had met your gaze on 
every side — if the largest city in which you had ever been, 
was as a village, when compared with a European capital 
— if every book you read, spoke only to you of minsters 
sacred with the dust of ages — of castles around which 
hover legend and story of knight and minstrel and lady 
fair, I say if all this had been brought before your mind’s 
eye, for which would you have longed? what would you 
have sought to see and study ? ” 

“ ’Pon my word. Mason, you put the question in a very 
novel light. When we are tired of cutting each others' 
throats about nothing, you shall pay me a visit in Wilt- 
shire, and I will show you 

‘ Minsters dim and castles strong and high,’ 
as the old song says.” 

“Yes,” said Mason, half ironically, “ and be sneered 
at as the green Yankee.” The other laid his hand on his 
shoulder and said very quietly : “ Cads, my boy, do that, 
not men like you and me. See here, Mason, your govern- 
ment has been enlisting a lot of our deserters. We have 


A PRISONER. 


97 


taken sixteen or more and Sir George swears he will shoot 
them. Your ‘ Mr. Madison ’ has clapped some thirty of 
our fellows in limbo, as hostages, and we intend to do the 
same. Now I don’t wish to see you one of them.” 

“ I am much obliged to you,” broke in the other, ‘‘ it is 
a wish in which I cordially join.” 

Harcourt laid back in the boat, and laughed merrily. 
“ Well,” he continued, after his laughter had subsided, “ I 
hope to keep you quiet in Quebec and pull you through if 
I can. I gave my word, that you would not try and es- 
cape, eh ! ” 

“ Depend upon it,” replied Mason, “ whatever may be 
my fate, I shall meet it like a man.” 

“ That I knew as soon as my eyes rested upon you,” 
said the other. “ Here we are at William Henry, or Sor- 
rel, or whatever they call the place, where we must stop 
the night. To-morrow we shall reach Quebec ; now for 
something to eat, and — ” 

“ But, Captain Harcourt, may not your kindness to me, 
a stranger, get you into trouble at head- quarters.” 

“ Not a bit of it,” said the other. “ In the first place, 
I am doing nothing but what I am authorized to do, and 
in the second place, I have an old uncle who owns four 
seats in the Commons, and I am heir to the title, you 
know. It is wonderful how much weight four votes carry 
with the old gentleman at the ‘ Horse Guards,’ where they 
are thrown with the ‘ ins,’ and not with the ‘ outs.’ You 
understand ? No ? Oh ! charming simplicity, thy name 
is Yankee.” 


7 



CHAPTER IX. 

MRS. QUINCEY. 

“ From the chafed tiger rend the prey, 

Rush on the lion when at bay, 

Bar the fell dragon’s blighted way, 

But shun that lovely snare.” 

Scott. 

LONG and weary day’s travel brought the 
party in the dusk of the evening to Quebec. 
Edward gazed with wonder at the quaint little 
city, with its Citadel and fortifications, perched 
upon an almost inaccessible hill. Its walls and arch- 
ways, its frowning bastions and grim cannon, beside which 
paced the plaided Scott, all produced a picture so very dif- 
ferent from any other American town. His companion 
pointed out to him the Heights of Abraham, and he could 
see the faint outline of the path by which Wolfe ” climbed 
to glory and death. The river was crowded with shipping, 
and the tall masts of an English seventy-four-gun ship, 
flying the flag of a rear admiral, lay “ sleeping on her 
shadow ” — a fit emblem of the mighty nation with whom 
we were then making unnecessary war. As Edward looked 
wonderingly at what was to him a novel sight, a bright 
flame burst out of her side, and the “ Union Jack” came 
fluttering down just as the most delicious band he had 
ever heard began playing the national hymn. Harcourt 
signalled the voyagers to stop paddling, and the boat 



MRS. QUINCEY. 


99 


floated gently down with the tide, as the air caught up and 
re-echoed from the walled city, seemed to float away, and 
lose itself on the broad unruffled surface of the river. The 
gates were shut and the guard set before they had landed, 
so that Harcourt proposed spending the night at an inn, in 
what was called the new town. After giving some orders 
for supper he left Edward, and went to deliver in person 
certain despatches with which he had been charged. Ed- 
ward was almost bewildered at the novelty of the scene. 
Could he be in America ? Had he not been transported 
by enchantment to some old medieval city in France ? . It 
needed but the white-coated soldiers of the Louis, to com- 
plete the illusion. On every side something new and 
strange met his eye. The language was the patois, so 
difficult to understand, even by good French scholars. The 
dresses of both women and men were so odd, and their stolid 
indifferent countenances, so unlike the sharp business 
faces he was accustomed to see among his own countrymen. 
His American uniform exposed him to many remarks, but 
to no direct insult ; but still it was with much pleasure that 
he saw Harcourt return. A very well cooked supper, and 
a bottle of most delicious claret, a wine Edward had never 
before tasted, restored his senses and brought him back 
from dream-land. 

“ There,” said Harcourt, throwing down his napkin, 
and idly leaning back in his chair which he had drawn 
close to the bright wood fire which burned on the hearth, 
“ there are worse things in life than such a supper, and 
such wine as that ; besides. Mason, my boy, you are in 
luck to-night. Sir George was in high good-humor at the 
news I brought him, and well he may be, as the campaign 


lOO 


- SIBYL SPENCER. . 


is over for the year — so I put in a word for you. I was 
told to talk about it some other time when I could remem- 
ber it. It will be a devilish long time before I do, I can 
tell you.” 

“ How can I thank you, Harcourt, for you kindness, and 
to me a stranger ! ” 

“ By nev'^er saying a word about it. Now listen ! There 
is to be a little party at the house of an acquaintance of 
mine to-night — so now, if you will go with me, I will intro- 
duce you to some nice fellows, and the handsomest woman 
your eyes ever looked on.” He blushed slightly as. he spoke. 

Edward glanced down at his soiled and well w'orn uni- 
form. 

Harcourt replied at once to the glance. “ Oh ! I have 
provided for all that, you shall go in ‘ Mufti.’ I told my 
servant to bring down a lot of my things. They will not 
fit you very well. I doubt if Stultz would recognize his 
coat ; but we will pin you up as the women say.” 

Harcourt’s man, a clever London servant, soon made 
Edward presentable, and he looked as he entered the sit- 
ting-room, what he was, a fine, handsome, gentlemanly 
fellow. Harcourt walked round him with great gravity, 
holding a candle in his hand. 

“ Ton my word, I did ‘ ce cher Stultz’ great injustice, 
that coat would not do dishonor to the great Brummell 
himself. By the bye, he patronized me when I was last in 
London. There is your coffee, drink it, and we will go.” 
As they reached the door he turned, and laying his hand 
on Edward’s shoulder, said, 

“ Mason, keep your temper. Most of the men you will 
meet are nice enough, but there are a rum lot mixed in. 


MRS. QUINCEY. 


lOI 


and you Yankees have the reputation of being strangely 
thin-skinned.” 

“ Does the warning apply to women as well as men ” 
asked Mason with a smile. 

“ As for that,” said the other, again reddening, “ you 
must take your chance like the rest, Lucy Quincey will 
show you no quarter, I promise you.” 

The little gathering of which Harcourt had spoken, 
proved to be quite a large assemblage. There were but 
few women present, and most of the men were officers 
connected with the garrison. The host. Captain Quincey, 
to whom Edward was presented, and who was profuse in 
his expressions of hospitality, was a small dark-eyed man, 
about thirty-five years old, very handsome, with features of 
a strongly Jewish type, with something sinister in his ex- 
pression — a fact quickly noticed by Edward. Captain 
Quincey was in uniform, which was rather unusual, as most 
of the officers were in civilian’s dress, — but he excused his 
costume, under the plea that he had but that moment left 
the office, to which his duties as “ Post Adjutant ” con- 
fined him. He asked Mason some questions relative to 
the time and place of his capture, trusted his stay in Que- 
bec would be short, said some more civil nothings, and 
passed on. The two men had stood but a moment to- 
gether when Harcourt’s arm was touched, and as he turned 
with a start, a low soft voice said : 

“ Captain Harcourt has returned safely from his perils 
by land and water — Quebec has been a desert since his 
departure.” There was a certain mocking tone used by 
the lady, which grated on Mason’s ear, and he glanced at 
his friend. Nothing could exceed the languid, finished air 


102 


SIBYL SPENCER. 


and manner which Harcourt suddenly assumed. Touch- 
ing the finger tips of the hand the lady extended to him, 
he bowed most deeply as he replied : 

“ Permit me to present my friend, Captain Mason of 
the American army, Mrs. Quincey.” With a charm of 
manner in marked contrast to that which but the moment 
before Mrs. Quincey had used to Harcourt, she extended 
her hand ; there was nothing in the few words she used, 
but Edward felt as if a subtile spell had passed over him. 
Taking advantage of the conversation between the two, 
Edward took a long, careful look at the lady, and certainly 
his eye had never rested on a moire lovely object. Tall, 
above the common height, Mrs. Quincey’s form was most 
exquisitely rounded. The fashion of the day caused the 
neck and arms to be exposed, and hers were white and 
dimpled. Her hair, which grew down low on her forehead, 
was wavy, and of a rich golden brown ^ her eyes were 
hazel, large and languishing, and as she turned them on 
the young man, he felt there was a power in woman he had 
never known before. 

Mrs. Quincey was about twenty-six years old, and her 
whole bearing spoke the woman of the world, and of a 
world to which Edward was an absolute stranger. The 
very costume, the rich heavy silk, the beautiful lace, the 
profusion of ornament and jewelry, too much he thought 
for a mere reception, all denoted something entirely differ- 
ent from the provincial life in which he had heretofore 
moved. The very way in which she received him, the 
quickness with which the shyness of a stranger was brush- 
ed away, and he was made to feel not only at ease, but 
absolutely like an old acquaintance, excited at once his 


MRS. QUINCEY. 


103 


wonder and admiration. There was not a word in the 
short conversation which amounted to any thing more than 
the merest commonplace, not a syllable that every one in 
the room mcght not have heard, and yet his voice sank to 
a whisper, and he unconsciously drew his chair a trifle 
closer as if to make the lady more -particularly his own. 
Edward felt Harcourt was watching him, and he thought 
he saw a slightly ironical smile curl his lip. Turning his 
eyes on Mrs. Quincey, he saw she had also observed the 
smile, for she bit her lip with evident vexation. Card 
tables had been set out and most of the guests were ab- 
sorbed in some game of chance. To the offer of a seat 
made by his host, Edward frankly confessed, he had never 
played a game in his life, nor did he know one card from 
another. 

“ Why, Mr. Mason,” said Mrs. Quincey, ‘‘ in what seclu- 
sion have you been brought up .? ” 

“ Deeper, Madam, I assure you, than in the backwoods 
of Kentucky — in that of a New England town.” 

“ And do they never play games of chance, hazard for 
example ? ” asked the lady with evident unbelief. 

“ Certainly, in the cities, among men only — never in the 
presence of ladies. I doubt, Mrs. Quincey, if there are 
five families in New England to-day, the men of which 
would be willing openly to sit down and play for money 
as these gentlemen are now doing.” 

“Oh, Captain Mason, let me advise you, urge you, 
never, never touch a card.” 

Edward was startled ; there was a depth of feeling, 
a passion in the tone of her voice he had not looked 
for. 


104 


SIBYL SPENCER. 


At this moment Mr. Quincey called out to his wife, 
without turning round in his chair, — 

“ Sorry to disturb you, Lucy, but don’t* you think a lit- 
tle music would cheer us up ? ” 

His wife did not answer a word, but smiling an apology 
to Edward, she rose and took her seat at the piano. Her 
manner certainly did not indicate that the labor was one 
of love for her husband. 

She was immediately surrounded by several young men, 
and at times the music was drowned in the sound of merry 
laughter which came from the party. 

Edward joined Harcoiirt in a different part of the 
room, who, taking him by the arm, said, — 

“ Mason, I want you to know , flag Captain of the 

lying off here ; we passed her this evening. He has 

a number of your countrymen on board, taken from mer- 
chant vessels. He promises to take you to Halifax, and 
as he will in all probability be several months at sea be- 
fore the rear admiral touches at Halifax, this infernal 
trouble about prisoners may be over between us.” 

The officer to v/hom he was thus abruptly introduced 
shook him warmly by the hand. 

“ Any friend of Harcourt’s is my friend at once. There 
is no necessity of your coming on board until we sail, 
which will not be until the day after to-morrow at the ear- 
liest. I will make you as comfortable as I can — send a 
boat and a file of marines for you — look better, you know 
— shall not put you in irons, you know.” • 

Mason laughed as he returned the warm greeting of 
the bluff, honest sailor. 

“ Now, Mason, if you have had enough of this, shall 


MRS. QUINCEY, 


105 


we leave?” asked Harcourt. “Will you come with us, 
Captain ? Will give you a cigar and a glass of brandy- 
and-water.” 

“ Not to-night,” replied the other ; “ I have not paid 
for my footing,” he added with a constrained laugh, point- 
ing to the card table. “The truth is, Charley, I must have 
one smile, even if I have to pay for it hereafter.” 

Harcourt said nothing but drew Mason away. He 
could hear him mutter below his breath, “ Poor Lucy, poor 
child ! ” 

The next day Harcourt insisted that his friend should 
join him in his quarters. Agreeable to his own wish he 
kept quietly in the house. 

A file of English papers giving all the news which then 
convulsed Europe — the story of the battle after battle 
which tore down Napoleon’s power — the mighty uprising 
of the nations, most of the accounts of which had only 
come to Edward in broken fragments — afforded him en- 
trancing occupation. He saw but little of Harcourt, whose 
duties on the staff kept him occupied all day, and who 
seemed lured by some irresistible impulse to the Quinceys 
in the evening. He asked Edward, indeed, to accompany 
him, but seemed relieved when he declined. 

It was on the morning of the third day, as Edward sat 
by the window watching the moving throng in the princi- 
pal street of the town, that Harcourt entered. For a mo- 
ment or so he said nothing, and his air was gloomy and 
cast down, and when at length he did speak, it was with 
a hesitancy totally at variance with his usually calm, pol- 
ished manner. 

Edward knew at once that something had happened, 


io6 


SIBYL SPENCER. 


and jumped at the conclusion that the hour of parting had 
come. 

“ So the time is up/’ he said, rising from his seat and 
extending his hand, “ and all that remains for me to do is 
to thank my more than kind friends in the warmest man- 
ner.” 

Harcourt took his hand and held it for more than a 
minute. His face was very sad, and a tear actually gath- 
ered on his eyelid. 

“ D — d disagreeable, but I must do it, old fellow. You 
see, after all, I am ordered to shut you up with the others, 
in close confinement — the hostages, I mean.” 

Edward was brave, more than usually so, but he felt 
his heart stop beating for the moment as the words fell on 
his ear. He manned himself to meet his fate, and, as he 
drew himself proudly up, said : 

“ I trust I have not been the means of bringing any 
embarrassment upon you, Captain Harcourt.” 

“ Nonsense,” said the other ; “ somebody got hold of 
Sir George before I got there this morning, and like all 
weak men, he is obstinate. In fact, when he takes the bit 
in his teeth, the devil can’t hold him. One hour more and 

I should have had you safe on board the . Now it is 

too late.” 

Edward stepped to the window and looked up at the 
bright November sun which streamed down on the busy 
street and the gay happy world. He thought of the little 
far-away New England village, of Sibyl’s soft, gentle, lov- 
ing eyes, of the affectionate old clergyman. - It was hard, 
hard to meet death, when safety had been so near. 

‘‘ Come,” said Harcourt, laying his hand heavily on 


MRS. QUINCEY. 


107 


Edward’s shoulder. “ You are a gentleman by birth and 
breeding, if ever there was one. Meet it as becomes your 
blood.” 

He turned as he spoke, and without looking back led 
the way to the street. At the door stood a corporal and a 
[file of soldiers. Motioning to the non-commissioned offi- 
cer to fall back, Harcourt took Mason’s arm, and they 
walked towards the Citadel. For several minutes neither 
spoke, until at length the young Englishman broke the 
silence : 

“ I will send you in every thing to make you comforta- 
ble. Write to your friends, and I will see that the letters 
are passed through the lines. By Jove ! it makes me shud- 
der ; and yet, as a man, Edward, I do not think England 
is in the wrong.” 

“ You can hardly expect me to discuss this problem in 
moral ethics with a perfectly unbiassed mind, I presume,” 
said Edward, with a sickly smile. 

“ I spoke my thoughts unconsciously,” said the young 
Englishman. “ I beg your pardon.” 

They had by this time reached the centre of the for- 
tress, and saw before them the officer of the guard and 
many of the soldiers standing carelessly around. The cor- 
poral was passed by the young men, and raising his 
hand to his breast in salute, handed the officer a paper. 
When he had read it, the young soldier stepped forward, 
and with a strong Scotch accent, said : 

“ Capt. Mason, 8th Reg. U. S. Army.” 

“Your servant, sir,” said Mason, drawing himself 
proudly up to his full height. 

“ One moment,” exclaimed Harcourt, haughtily waving 


io8 


SIBYL SPENCER. 


his hand ; the subaltern fell back. “ I would have saved 
you this, God knows ; but, Mason, you carry into that dun- 
geon a happier heart than Charles Harcourt’s. God bless 
you ! Good-bye ! ” 

He wrung his hand, and Mason was alone among 
strangers. 

The young Highlander treated him with great polite- 
ness, and after a few preliminary formalities had been 
gone through with, asked him to follow him. He led the 
way to one of the casemates of the fortress, at the door of 
which stood two sentinels. The room into which he was 
shown was a long vaulted apartment, the embrasures be- 
ing heavily barred, making a prison of it in reality. A 
stove was burning in the centre of the room, and cots and 
mattresses were strewn about. In the casemate were as- 
sembled about thirty of Mason’s brother officers, naval and 
military. Every eye was turned on him as he entered, but 
not a word was spoken. 

The heavy door swung back with a shock which echoed 
through the vaulted room, and a clear, loud voice said : 

“ Our number is complete. There remains nothing 
now but the priest and the firing party. God have mercy 
on our souls.” 



CHAPTER X. 

THE APPEAL. 

Spare him, he our love hath shared ! 

Spare him, as thou wouldst be spared I 

Longfellow. 

HE state of Dr. Spencer’s health caused great 
uneasiness to his numerous friends, and no 
one of them was more anxious than Deacon 
Knapp. The Deacon hid under the cloak of 
cynicism, a kind and loving nature. He had been brought 
up from infancy in the old church under the ministrations 
of the Doctor and his father before him, and above all he 
looked upon Dr. Spencer as the representative of sound 
religious and political doctrines. Not a day passed but 
the Deacon made his appearance at the parsonage, and 
many an hour was spent in cheering his old friend. They 
both felt the pressure of the political events, and the 
disasters which pressed so heavily on the people, but there 
was one consolation of which the Deacon availed himself, 
and that was, the pleasure of grumbling. His religion 
forbade him to swear, but did not require him to soften his 
language in other respects, and deep and enduring was the 
pit to which he consigned Mr. Madison and each one of 
his advisers. As Deacon Knapp approached the parson- 
age, this morning, he was greeted by Mr. Hamilton. This 

(109) 



no 


SIBYL SPENCER. 


gentleman had been long absent from D , nor had his 

recent arrival become known. After the usual salutations 
Mr. Hamilton’s first inquiry was about Dr. Spencer’s 
health. 

“ Well now you see,” said the older man, “ the Parson 
I greatly fear has almost ‘ fit the fight.’ He’s finished 
his course. I wish,” he added bitterly, “ I could say with 
joy. But what can you expect from a man to whom 
Edwards was a light in the gospel, and Hamilton in poli- 
tics, now that them Unitarians is prospering at hum, and 
the demmycrats rules it in Washington.” 

“ I need not ask,” said Mr. Hamilton, “ if he is prepared 
to die ; for if singleness of heart, purity of life, and devo 
tion to God and man, count for any thing, James Spencer’s 
spirit will be borne aloft on angels’ wings.” 

“ Jist so ; you say nothing but the truth, Mr. Hamilton, 
yet it’s kinder hard if a poor sinful man may be permitted 
to question the great Ruler of events (he raised his hat 
reverently as he spoke), to see this light quenched in the 
distress of nations and the overturning of all conservative 
principles.” 

“ Oh ! let us take a more cheerful view of affairs, my 
old friend,” said the other. “ Our country is too young to 
be ruined yet. She has a glorious future before her.” 

“ That’s as may be,” muttered the Deacon ; “ but I am 
getting too old to look forward much longer. I come 
home at night, and thar sits Sally, the light of my eyes, a- 
crying over the baby, because Sam’s away over the lakes. 
I come down here, and here’s Sibyl, who’s got more char- 
acter than any woman I ever knew, mournful and dis- 
tressed. I tell you, Mr. Hamilton, it’s the same where- 


THE APPEAL. 


I I I 


ever you may go. There’s not a fireside that isn’t desolate 
nor a churchyard that’s not growing green — and what 
for ? I ask myself that question twenty times a day, in 
the long watches of the night, and at the cock crowing ; 
what for ? ” 

“They are falling as their fathers fell: let us hope 
they have fought as their fathers fought. My old friend, it 
is our country which demands this sacrifice. Foolishly, 
wrongly I admit ; but still it is their country.” 

“ God forbid ! ” said the Deacon pausing in his walk, 
for they had now reached the steps of the Parsonage, 
“ God forbid ! that I should refuse any of mine, or all of 
mine, from the baby in the cradle to the two young men, 
who are somewhere in the front, if it was for my country ; 
but it ain’t. I tell you, Mr. Hamilton, you, who have held 
Senates enthralled, that if you were to speak until the crack 
of doom, you would not alter the fact that this war is a 
sectional war, and the longer it goes on the wider will 
be the breach between the North and South. You can’t 
make our people believe ag’in common sense.” 

“ But, my dear fellow,” said Mr. Hamilton, “ you have as 
you yourself say, more at stake ; and are ready to make 
greater sacrifices than your less fortunate neighbors. 
Why then cherish these views, why, even in conversation 
with me, allow them to take possession of your mind } 
Division, sectional strife ! Accursed be he who advises it, 
or even the mind that gives it birth.” 

“ Amen ! ” uttered the Deacon. “ Hamilton, in this 
house, lying on a bed of sickness, may be of death, is the 
oldest friend I have in the world. As you yourself have 
said, the purest spirit, the most self-forgetful, the one the 


I 12 


SIBYL SPENCER. 


most deeply imbued with the teachings of the great men 
who have gone before us.” 

In the energy of his feelings, the Deacon had dropped 
the accent and phraseology of the common New Englander, 
and spoke with dignity and even beauty. 

“ To his hand I verily believe has been committed that 
portion of the Israel of God who are called upon to sojourn 
here in this tabernacle of the flesh. Yet even James 
Spencer himself, the meek, the gentle, the lowly, holds 
that resistance to tyranny is obedience to God.” 

“This must not be, Knapp. My God! have our in ' 
stitutions come to this ? That such as you, a rich man and 
an Elder as you yourself would express it in the Church 
on earth, can hold even for an instant the monstrous 
thought of a separation or a division of the Union. Do 
not answer me, make no reply, which even to a friend like 
me can place you on the record. At this moment, when 
the very Houses of Assembly are passing resolutions, 
incendiary in their nature ; when but a breath can fan the 
flame of civil war, every honest heart, every true man, must 
labor not to rend but to knit together in one indissoluble 
bond, the common children of one common mother.” 

“ Have I not said I’d do it with my all, Avere it to 
the last drop of my heart’s blood ? But where’s the 
use ? We can give our sons to fall like brave men on 
the field of battle ; we can give our substance wrung 
from these granite hills by days of toil and pinching 
economy ; we can see all taken and all lost, and yet, 
thank God 1 he permits us to make the sacrifice, if it 
but feebly benefit our fathers’ land. But, Mr. Hamilton, 
we will not see these children, blood of our blood, bone of 


THE APPEAL. 


II3 

our bone, led like bullocks to the shambles, to be shot 
down, not in fair open battle, but as just retaliation for 
the lives of traitors, deserters and murderers. The pro- 
tecting arm of our government shall not be thrown over 
every foreign adventurer. These sons of ours are children 
of the promise, their birthright is the citizenship which, 
by seven long years of bloody war, we won for them. I 
say, and I know I speak the feelings of every New Eng- 
land father, you shall not take the children’s bread, and 
cast it to the dogs.” 

They had been so earnest in their conversation that 
they had not heard the approach of Mrs. Spencer, who now 
stood on the steps but a few feet above them. Care and 
anxiety had altered the poor old lady, but still she strove 
to greet Mr. Hamilton with her accustomed manner. 

“ Do come in,” she said. “ The Doctor heard your voices 
and he is dying with impatience to learn if there is any 
news. He is no better to-day,” she added mournfully ; “ and 
what is to become of Sibyl and me when he is gone ? 
Where shall we look ? to whom shall we turn } ” 

“ Well ma’am,” said the Deacon, “ there’s but few on us 
but feels kindly, if it were but to a dog, whose head James 
Spencer had patted, let alone to a woman who has been 
his companion for thirty years. There will be some differ- 
ence in your circumstances, but the “seed of the righteous 
will not be forsaken, nor will his children have to beg their 
bread.” As they were speaking, they entered the house, 
and naturally turned into the library which seemed 
sacred to the kind old Doctor. The books were on the 
table, just as he had last read them ; the pen lay with the 
ink dry on it, as it had fallen from his weakening fingers — 

8 


SIBYL SPENCER. 


II4 

all was too sacred even for the neatness of a New England 
housekeeper to disturb. 

“ I am ashamed,” muttered Mrs. Spencer, “ to let any 
one see this room, all so littered up. But James never did 
like to have his things moved, and now I cannot look at 
them without crying.” 

The Deacon walked to the window, his features worked, 
and the big tears trickled one by one down his rugged 
cheeks. His more accomplished but not less sympathiz- 
ing companion took the poor old woman’s hand, and said, 
in the sweet rich voice to which no man had ever listened 
unmoved, 

“ My dear madam. Deacon Knapp only spoke the com- 
mon feeling of the entire community. Should it be God’s 
will to remove the friend of a lifetime, every heart will be 
open to cherish, and to welcome his widow and child.” 

“ It was not so much of myself I was thinking,” said 
the still weeping woman, “ but of Sibyl. The load she 
is carrying is a terrible one for one so frail. Expecting 
every moment to hear that the man she loves, ah, me ! has 
been shot like a dog, and now her father, her playmate, 
her teacher — I never could understand him as she did. 
Sometimes, God forgive me ! I was jealous of the love the 
two bore one another, and now he is dying, and no — ” 

The wretched woman covered her face with her apron, 
and rocked herself to and fro in speechless agony. There 
was a hard expression on the Deacon’s face as he turned 
from the window, and Mr. Hamilton avoided his eye. He 
pointed with his hand to the weeping woman. 

“ I can’t frame amendments to the Constitution, Mr. 
Hamilton, nor can I argue a point of Constitutional law, 


THE APPEAL. 


II5 

but I have a heart which tells me when another’s wounded 
and bleeding unto death, and yet you say, that even unto 
this we must submit ? ” 

There was something so indescribably bitter, and even 
malignant, in the man’s tone, usually so calm and self- 
contained, that Hamilton almost shuddered. 

“ Come,” said Mrs. Spencer, rousing herself by a 
strong effort. “ Come, he is waiting for you. You will be 
careful. Deacon, you will not worry nor excite him, will 
you ? ” 

The Deacon could only nod, and as they turned to the 
door they were met by Sibyl, looking wan and white as 
Parian marble. 

“ Mr. Hamilton, will you speak with me a moment ? ” 

The girl’s voice quivered, and her fingers twined them- 
selves convulsively one with the other. 

“ Certainly, my dear young lady,” he said, and his eyes 
followed lovingly the graceful figure which walked towards 
the window. When they were alone, Sibyl turned and, 
coming close to him, placed her hand on his arm and said, 
in a broken voice — 

“ Mr. Hamilton, save him, save the man who was pre- 
ferred to you.” 

“ My child,” said Hamilton, “ it needs no appeal from 
you to induce me to use every faculty for that object. If 
I did not cherish for you, even now, the tenderest love — 
nay, do not start ; it is a pure love, Sibyl, so pure that it 
is hopeless, I would, were it in my power, save Edward 
Mason, as one of the brightest, noblest specimens of early 
manhood. But what can Ido? I am utterly, absolutely 
powerless.” 


SIBYL SPENCER. 


I l6 


“ It cannot be,” she answered, “ that the great, the 
powerful Arthur Hamilton, the leader, the controller of his 
State, the admired, the loved of his countrymen, says he 
is powerless ; and says this to the woman he pretends to 
love ? ’’ 

“ Pretends to love ! Oh, Sibyl ! ” 

“ Then save him, save him from death, and I will be 
your slave. Oh, I will worship you, I will look upon you 
as a god,” and she sank weak and trembling into a chair. 

“ My child, I have absolutely no influence over the cow- 
ardly, treacherous man who now fills the office of our Chief 
Magistrate. I have been to Washington, I have bent my- 
self to ask, that as the reward of a life’s service to my coun- 
try, I might be allowed to act in the affair. I was refused. 
Refused, did I say ? I was ignominiously spurned and 
reviled. I submitted, and again and again renewed the 
request as a favor. This have I already done for your 
lover. No, let me speak the truth, I would have done the 
same for the meanest laborer among my countrymen.” 

The frightful gasp which Sibyl gave, as she heard Mr. 
Hamilton, the convulsive manner in which she pressed her 
hand on her heart, made him tremble, and he sprang to 
the door to summon aid. 

‘‘ Stop !” she gasped rather than spoke. “ My father 
knows nothing of Edward’s fate as yet. In mercy spare 
him.” 

“ My dear, dear Sibyl,” said Mr. Hamilton, “think of 
your friends, your parents, and be calm.” 

“ Calm : am I not calm ? See,” and she extended her 
hand. “ My pulse does not beat faster than yours. My 
eyes have not shed a tear, they feel as if they were hot, 


THE APPEAL. 


II7 


burning coals. Since we were little toddling things, and 
played together in this room, there has not been a fibre of 
my being which has not been bound up and woven into 
his. I stand by my father’s bedside and try to smile. 
O God ! Thy hand is heavy on Thy hand-maiden. Father 
and he both gone. Both gone, and I shall be alone.” 

The great strong man trembled as he held the girl’s 
hand. He knew that unless the British Government, for 
humanity’s sake, waived the right given them by the law of 
man and of nations, to punish deserters from their armies, 
taken with arms in their hands, in open fight and in league 
with their enemies, there was for Edward Mason and his 
wretched companions no hope. One might as well hope 
to still the waves of the Atlantic with a word as to speak 
of humanity or mercy to Mr. Madison or his advisers. 

The administration party were playing for the foreign 
vote, a vote growing as fast as the fraudulent naturalization 
papers could be issued. To talk to such men of humanity 
and mercy, of the sufferings of women and children, and 
the agony of a young girl, was hopeless. The man laughed 
in the bitterness of his spirit. 

As the faint mocking sounds struck Sibyl’s ear, she 
sprang to her feet, a faint tinge of color came back to her 
cheek. She was about to speak when he motioned to her 
to be silent. 

“ Judge not too hastily. In the very bitterness of my 
soul, a sound broke from me of derision at my own help- 
lessness, of mockery at the men whom a free people have 
placed in authority over them. As I have said, I am pow- 
erless. There is but one refuge, Sibyl, and that is in 
prayer to the God of Hosts.” 


ii8 


SIBYL SPENCER. 


Sibyl had clung almost unconsciously to hope, founded 
on Mr. Hamilton's power and influence. All her life she 
had seen every thing yield to the will and determination of 
her father’s friend. Now in her despair, cut off from the 
slightest communication with her lover — in hourly expec- 
tation that the hideous retaliatory policy of both nations 
would be enforced — she had turned for assistance and 
consolation, and she had turned in vain. 

The dying condition of the old minister made every 
one anxious to conceal from him any thing which might 
embitter his few last hours, and with a self-devotion rare 
even in a woman, Sibyl had shut the secret of her grief in 
the recesses of her heart. As she had told Mr. Hamilton 
she had even tried to smile, and as she now stood looking 
at him ghastly pale, and struggling to control her agony, 
the kind-hearted man absolutely choked with emotion. 

“ Forgive me, Mr. Hamilton, if I have said any thing to 
wound you. I know, I feel the appeal to you is vain. I 
am sure you would help me if you could ; but oh ! the 
heart clings to such frail supports. I thought you might 
possibly do something.” 

“ Sibyl, I am powerless.” 



CHAPTER XI. 

A QUIET RUBBER. 

** Pernicious gold ! Though yet no temples rise, 

No altars to thy name perfume the skies, 

Yet, is thy full divinity confessed, 

And thy shrine fixed in every human breast.” 

Gifford’s Translation. 

ONG weeks rolled by before Harcourt brought 
the glad news that Mason’s prison doors were 
open, and that he was once more at liberty on 
parole. The intelligence had been brought to 
Sir George Provost that the British Government had de- 
termined not to execute the deserters taken in arms against 
their flag, and that a mutual interchange of prisoners had 
been agreed upon. 

The little property which Edward possessed enabled 
him to live in a better manner than most of the others, 
and for the few days he was still to be detained in Quebec, 
he took a room at the principal hotel. It was here that 
Captain Quincey had his apartments, and almost the first 
one to greet him on the evening of his arrival was that of- 
ficer. Although perfectly courteous, even obsequious in 
his manners, there was something which made the shrewd 
(119) 





120 


SIBYL SPENCER. 


young American distrust and dislike his quondam host. 
Edward was alone ; Harcourt had been called away sud- 
denly, and was not expected to return until the next day. 
Solitary, in a strange land, he gladly accepted the invita- 
tion which Quincey extended to him of passing the evening 
in his rooms. 

Mrs. Quincey’s greeting was warm and cordial. She 
congratulated him on his release, and on the prospect of 
again revisiting his home. There was less of coquetry in 
her air, and more of the sincerity of a friend, than so very 
short an acquaintance warranted. Notwithstanding all this 
there was an air of restraint, and it was with relief that the 
arrival of several officers of the garrison broke up the 
little party. Among them was a young fresh boy, evidently 
just released from the restraint of a public school, and 
making his first venture in the outside world. Cards were 
introduced, and the majority of the party were soon ab- 
sorbed in the excitement of high play. Young St. Clair, that 
was the boy’s name, seemed divided between his open 
admiration of his beautiful hostess and a stripling’s anxiety 
to take part in the game, which his seniors were carrying 
on before him. Edward saw at once that this latter inten- 
tion Mrs. Quincey was anxious to prevent. Never was 
manner more fascinating than that which she exerted to 
retain St. Clair by her side. Under an influence which he 
could not resist, the boy became rapidly intoxicated with 
pleasure. There was another person who viewed the scene 
with ill-disguised dislike, and that was the lady’s husband. 
He interrupted the conversation at different times, com- 
plained of the noise which broke into his game, and at 
length made the demand, in the same tone, which had 


A QUIET RUBBER. 


I2I 


Struck Edward on his first introduction, that his wife 
should give them some music. 

Mrs. Quincey rose at once without a word of reply, 
and moved to the piano. As Edv/ard followed her, and, 
under the pretence of arranging her music, bent forward 
so as to see her face, he saw her eyes were full of tears. 
Intimating a desire he should draw a chair to the instru- 
ment, she began a conversation in so low a tone, that the 
air she was playing formed a running accompaniment to 
her words. 

“ Did I understand you to say. Captain Mason, that 
gambling was unknown in the States ? ” 

“ By no means, my dear madam,” answered Edward, “ I 
only said that so far as my limited observation extended, 
I had never seen cards introduced in ladies’ society.” 

“ Yet my life is spent in just such scenes as these, with 
no society but men, whose only pleasures are shuffling a 
pack of cards, or shaking a dice box.” 

There was something inexpressibly sad in the tone in 
which these words were spoken, and Edward hesitated how 
he should reply to them. It was but for a moment, how- 
ever, for shaking her head saucily, she turned the conver- 
sation on trifling matters with a skill in repartee which 
taxed Mason’s powers to the utmost. There was a charm 
in the manner which lured Edward on, until he found 
unconsciously that he had become extremely confidential, 
and that Mrs. Quincey was well acquainted with Sibyl and 
his love. 

There is nothing more intensely dangerous to a man, 
and especially to a young man, than the position in which 
a handsome woman places him, in becoming his confidante. 


122 


SIBYL SPENCER. 


Sympathy is so sweet. “ Les absents ’ont toujours tort,” as 
the French proverb has it. Unconsciously our young hero 
slipped from the confidential into the affectionate, and sad 
to say, for once Sibyl was forgotten. It was not, however, 
until raising his eyes to Mrs. Quincey’s face, after a speech 
of uncommon silliness, that he started at the ghastly 
pallor and expression of intense pain which passed over it. 
Her eyes w^ere fixed intently on a looking-glass which hung 
over the instrument at which she was seated, but which was 
hidden from Edward. He turned his head — Harcourt was 
standing close behind her. Edward made a motion to rise 
from his seat to greet his friend, but was restrained by the 
hand of the latter, which was placed kindly on his shoulder. 

“ If Mrs. Quincey will forgive my abrupt entrance,” 
Harcourt said in the quiet voice peculiar to him, “ I shall be 
tempted to ask of her, the favor to play for me again that 
low soft air which certainly must be Spanish if my memory 
does not deceive me.” 

There was nothing in the request which any gentleman 
might not have made under similar circumstances, but a 
shudder ran through Mrs. Quincey, and again Edward 
noticed the ghastly palor of her face. She controlled her- 
self, however, with an effort, and commenced the air which 
she had been playing. As she did so, Harcourt shifted 
his position and stood close to the piano, on the side away 
from Edward ; as he did so, the music died away, and 
after a moment’s silence, Mrs. Quincey caught up her fan 
and handkerchief and abruptly left the room. 

Harcourt lounged up to the card table, and stood rest- 
ing his arm on the back of Quincey’s chair. The play had 
evidently been very high, and the principal loser had been 


A QUIET RUBBER. 


123 


the young boy, St. Clair. The hand which Harcourt over- 
looked decided the game, and it was with an oath that the 
young man threw down his cards, exclaiming he would play 
no more. In this he was joined by several of the other 
officers, who evidently were ill at ease, at some occurrence 
which to Edward was a mystery. 

St. Clair added up his losses, which amounted to con- 
siderably more than a hundred pounds, and drawing out 
his pocket-book, handed the amount to his host, who had 
been the principal winner. The losses and gains of the 
others were trifling and soon settled. Captain Quincey kept 
his seat at the table, and although expressing his regret at 
the breaking up of the party, made in reality no attempt to 
detain them longer, and after a few civil words they all 
left except Harcourt and Edward. The latter was about 
doing so, when he was detained by a quick, sharp gesture 
from his friend. Harcourt had placed himself with his 
back to the fire, and was keeping his eyes intently fixed 
on Quincey, who was rapidly and nervously shuffling and 
cutting the various packs of cards on the table before him. 
Suddenly Quincey turned, and in a tone of the most insult- 
ing rudeness, asked Edward how “ much longer they were to 
be honored with his presence.” 

“ Sir,” exclaimed Edward, his cheeks flushing at the 
provocation. 

“ Damned Yankee rebel ! ” muttered the other. 

Edward started forward to resent this last speech, when 
Harcourt seized him by his arm and almost forced him into 
a seat. Taking one himself near the table. 

“ Mason be quiet, your utmost efforts cannot raise that 
man to the level of your contempt. How much money did 


124 


SIBYL SPENCER. 


you win from that boy St. Clair this evening,” he said, 
suddenly addressing himself to Captain Quincey. 

* “ None of your damned business,” muttered the other, 
glancing on the calm handsome face before him with a 
black, bitter look. 

“ Granted,” returned Harcourt, leaning back in his 
chair and playing with an ivory paper cutter he had taken 
in his hands. “ Place the full amount in an envelope, 
seal it with your own ring, and give it to Mr. Mason 
for Mr. St. Clair. Pledge yourself in writing ” — he 
paused, and uttered each word with slow and distinct 
utterance, “ never again, for the reason of having been dis- 
covered cheating at cards, never again to touch a card while 
in his majesty’s service, and I, on my part, will pledge my- 
self that this affair shall be kept secret.” 

“ And if I will not,” said the miserable wretch, cover- 
ing his face with his hands, but making no effort to deny 
the accusation. 

“ But you will,” continued the other ; “ in case you 
refuse, I will before ten o’clock to-morrow morning lay the 
entire affair before Sir George. Then you know you will be 
cashiered.” 

“ You have no proof ? ” 

“ My simple word, without an iota of proof, would be 
sufficient to expel you from Crockford’s. No matter he 
waved his hand to the other to keep silent. “ For your 
wife’s sake, I do not wish to show the proof I have.” 

“Yes,” said Quince}'-, taking his hands from his face, 
which was white, his eyes gleaming with vindictive ven- 
geance. “ Is it my wife or your mistress, who influences 
you?” 


A QUIET RUBBER. 


125 


Not a muscle of Harcourt’s moved except the hand 
that held the little ivory toy he was playing with, which 
fell broken and crushed by his iron grasp to the carpet. 
His voice was even more than usually low and soft as he 
continued — 

“ Your wife’s fair name, unfortunately for her, is not in 
my keeping. This insult shall be answered later.” 

Harcourt had drawn himself together as he spoke, and 
suddenly springing from his chair, he threw the other 
violently on the floor, and. seized two playing cards, which 
Quincey had concealed on the chair and which accounted 
for his keeping his seat. Taking a candle in his hand, he 
held the cards up before Mason’s eyes, who saw a number 
of pin holes corresponding to the numbers marked on their 
face. 

“ A very stale trick. The poor devil,” said Harcourt, 
contemptuously, “ does not understand even his disgrace- 
ful trade!” 

While he was speaking Quincey had raised himself from 
the floor, and for a moment Mason thought he was about 
to spring on his accuser. But his heart failed him, and 
with a deep, bitter groan, he threw himself into a chair 
and covered his face with his hands. 

“ There is ink and paper, I doubt not, in that secre- 
tary,” said Harcourt, who had again seated himself, point- 
ing to a desk in the room. “ Get some and write as I dic- 
tate. Do not hesitate, it is your only hope.” 

Without uttering a sound the wretched man got the 
writing materials and Harcourt dictated. 

“ I, Joseph Quincey, Capt. in his Majesty’s 40th reg. of 


126 


SIBYL SPENCER. 


Infantry, now on the staff, having been discovered cheat- 
ing at cards, do, in consideration of a promise of silence 
on the part of Capt. the Hon. Charles Harcourt, pledge 
myself, never, under any circumstances, to touch a card or 
dice when in the presence of any officer of his Majesty’s 
service, his allies or those of his enemies.” 

“JOSEPH QUINCEY. 

‘'Dated Nov., 1813.” 

“ Capt. Mason, will you have the kindness to sign that 
as a witness So that’s done. Now for the money.” 

Quincey silently enclosed the bank note he had received 
that evening, sealed and directed the package, and tossed 
it on the table before Mason. The look which accom- 
panied this Edward remembered for years. Every evil 
passion the human heart can hold was stamped on his 
face. 

“ Now, gentlemen, if you have sufficiently accomplished 
my humiliation, perhaps you will still allow me to call this 
room my own.” 

“ Certainly, certainly,” hastily said Harcourt ; “ but 
there remains one thing more. You spoke of my relations 
to your wife. As a gentleman, I cannot allow such an im- 
putation to rest unchallenged.” 

“ Go, go, Mr. Harcourt,” said Mrs. Quincey, who had 
entered the room noiselessly. “ There was, I thought, no 
amount of ignominy which had not been heaped upon me 
by this man ; but it was reserved for this night to show 
that there can exist a human being so base as to be will- 
ing to purchase immunity from personal danger, at the 
expense of his honor.” 

Quincey turned round and half raised his hand, as if to 


A QUIET RUBBER. 1 27 

strike the woman who spoke. He fell back, however, at 
the fire which flashed from her eyes. 

“ It would not be the first time you have struck me ; 
but that you will never do again,” she said, speaking 
quickly. “ I have been your slave, but the words you have 
this night uttered have made me a free woman. Mr. 
Harcourt, we never meet again ; to the many acts of kind- 
ness you have done me, add this one more, forget that 
there exists such a creature as Lucy Quincey.” She cov- 
ered her face with her hands and sobbed audibly. 

“ How pretty ! so touching,” said her husband, sneer- 
ingly leaning back in his chair. “ Don’t mind me, I am 
a cheat and a gambler, so, of course, my wife’s honor is as 
nothing to me. Perhaps you would like Mr. Mason and 
myself to retire.” 

“ For God’s sake hush ! ” said Mason ; “ remember, at 
least, you are a man and she is a woman.” 

“ And as such she is my wife,” broke in Quincey, “ and 
by the Eternal, bad as I am, I will keep her pure ! ” and 
his sneering laugh made Mason’s blood run cold. 

Harcourt, who had been writing on a slip of paper, now 
turned, and after showing it to Quincey, said : 

“ Mrs. Quincey, I will try and forget every thing, but 
that there exists in this world a sad, suffering woman. On 
this paper I have written the address of my London agent. 
In the life which, in the future, in all probability, will be 
vour lot, there may come a morning when human aid is 
wanted ; a line sent there will always reach me, and in all 
circumstances and at all times, you have a devoted friend 
in Charles Harcourt.” He laid the slip of paper as he 
spoke on the table, took the hand she extended to him, 


128 


SIBYL SPENCER. 


raised it respectfully to his lips, bowed slightly to Quincey, 
and with Mason left the room. 

Mason’s room was in a wing of the hotel, a fire was 
burning on the hearth and by it he lighted a candle. 
Harcourt had bitten his lips until the blood fell in drops 
on his shirt front, and he trembled as a man does in an 
ague. Mason immediately poured out some brandy which 
Harcourt drank off, then he spoke. 

“ As Lucy Quincey said, forget this night. Mason, and 
be thankful no such shadow is thrown over your life.” He 
leaned back in his chair, shutting his eyes, and for several 
moments both men kept silence. 

“There is one thing, Harcourt, what am I to do with 
this money ? It has been committed to me, and what shall 
I say when I deliver it to Mr. St. Clair.? ” 

“ Oh, I had forgotten,” said Harcourt, sitting up in his 
chair, his old manner coming back to him and speaking in 
his usual drawling way. “You won’t mind just stepping 
with me to St. Clair’s quarters. I can give you a shake 
down for the night, you know, or you can come back 
here.” 

When Mr. St. Clair’s quarters were reached. Mason 
glanced for the first time at his friend. He was as calm 
and polished as ever. He briefly related the incident. 
“ I suspected for some little time, that Quincey was not ex- 
actly square, you know, so I stood sideways by the table 
and saw him while you and he were playing, change the 
cards. I pledged my word as to silence ; he is never to 
play any more, and all that. Good-night. Come Mason, 
St. Clair is a richer, if not a happier man.” 

“ Confound it,” said the young officer, “ I wish you 


A QUIET RUBBER. 


129 


had not done any thing. I would much rather have lost 
the hundred pounds. How can I ever speak to that pretty 
woman again ! ” 

“Never speak to her again, my dear bo}^,” said Har- 
court, “it is the only kindness you can do her; again good- 
night ! ” 

When they were in the street Mason turned to his com- 
panion anxious to have an explanation ; but the other 
took him by the arm, and drawing him along, said, “ Not 
one word until we are within four walls.” 

When Captain Harcourt’s quarters were reached, he 
motioned Mason to a chair, placed on the table a box of 
cigars, a decanter of brandy, and some water. For sev- 
eral minutes he walked slowly up and down the room, 
then threw himself into a chair, and drawing the cigar box 
to him, he muttered in a low tone, as he busied himself in 
selecting one, 

“ Look here, Mason, I am not a man of many profes- 
sions, as you have probably seen, but I am awfully fond 
of you. I took a fancy to you that night in camp, when 
you were first brought in, you were so calm and quiet, so 
full of pluck, you know.” 

“ You are very good to say so,” answered Mason ; “ I 
am sure nobody could have been kinder ; but what has 
this to do with the event of to-night ? ” 

“ Much more than you think,”' replied his friend ; “ in 
the first place, I must have some one to talk to ; in the 
next, I came very near getting you into a scrape.” 

“ How so ^ ” asked Mason. 

“ Why, you see,” continued the other, “ that black- 
guard saw I had found him out. If he could have forced 

9 


130 


SIBYL SPENCER. 


a fight out of you, he thought I might be made to hold my 
tongue. He is the best shot in the army. I know what 
you would say. It don’t amount to much, but he might 
have fired just a second before. time, and then — 

“You said,” interrupted Mason, “you wished some 
one to talk to, what did you mean ? ” 

It was full a minute before Harcourt replied. The 
smoke rolled in regular clouds from his lips, and his 
• features had assumed a cold, hard, stony look, unusual to 
them j at length he broke the silence — 

“ I am nephew and heir presumptive to Lord , as 

you may have heard. The son of his younger and only 
brother, who was killed some where in the Hill country in 
India. I was brought up in the Hall, and fitted for Eton 
by the father of this Lucy Quincey, the incumbent of 

the living at . All my vacations were passed at the 

old house, and I need not enter into that point, it is suffi- 
cient to say, she and I became madly in love with each 
other. After I entered ‘ Christ Church ’ I told the old 
gentleman of my passion, and my intention of marrying 
Lucy. He heard me all through, calmly, and then said. 
“The title, if I never marry and have children, will be 
yours. The estate, with the exception of a few hundreds a 
year, I can do what I please with, marry Lucy and — why go 
on with the old story ! In three months I was in Spain 
on Picton’s staff, got mentioned in the Gazette, sent home 
with dispatches, and found Lucy gone — married ! ” He 
stopped and poured out a glass of brandy, to which he 
slowly added the water drop by drop. 

“ I have tried this — gambling — every excitement that 
men find so sweet. My uncle is an old, broken man, and I 


A QUIET RUBBER. 


I3I 

heir to twenty thousand a year and liberty to spend what 
1 choose, and I would give it all to forget the sob which 
still rings in my ears of that broken-hearted woman.” 

Mason was very much affected. There was nothing 
which he could either do or say, he could only hold out his 
hand, which the other wrung warmly. 

“ I have known of Quincey’s cheating for some time, 
and as I was responsible in some manner for his introduc- 
tion, I felt my duty as a man was to stop him. God 
knows I little thought Lucy would have heard what 
passed ! ” 

“ Harcourt, what will become of them ? That man will 
not stay here after this.” 

“ Go into the States, probably,” answered the other. 
“ You get most of the offscourings of our society. Should 
you ever meet her, help Lucy for my sake. Now see, old 
boy, to-morrow or next day you will be exchanged, and we 
may never meet again. Don’t forget her.” He held out 
his hand. Mason saw he wanted to be alone. After a few 
words he stepped to the door. “ Say, Mason, old fellow, 
do you ever pray } ” 

Astonished at such a question, Edward hesitated a 
moment and then said. 

“ I am not a professor, as our people call it, Harcourt, 
of religion, but I try and remember my duty to God.” 

“ Then say a short one for a poor, frail, broken-hearted 
woman,” as he said this Harcourt covered his face with 
his hands and dropped his head on the table. Mason 
could see the convulsive sobs which shook his powerful 
frame. Edward softly closed the door and left him alone 
with his sorrow. 



CHAPTER XII. 

THE QUID N UNCS. 

“ Although the vine its fruit deny, 

The budding. fig-tree droop and die, 

No oil the olive yield.’' 

Onderdonk. 

HE excitement and discontent which the con- 
duct of the war produced in all the New Eng- 
land States, amounted at this its second year, 
almost to armed revolution. Far from learn- 
ing by its previous mistakes, the administration pursued 
the same ruinous policy, of openly avowing its determi- 
nation to outrage those fundamental principles of civil 
liberty so dear to the rugged New England yeoman. The 
garrisons in the various forts on the seaboard were with- 
drawn and sent to swell the number of victims daily offered 
up on the Canada line. The coasts were everywhere in- 
sulted ; a large section of Massachusetts, now known as the 
state of Maine, was overrun and permanently held by the 
enemy. Every port was blockaded, so that not even a 
fishing-smack could escape. Cut off from commerce, then 
almost their only resource, the people groaned under the 
double burden of taxation and want of money. Not a 
single bank but had suspended payment. Of gold and 
(132) 




THE QUID NUNCS. 


133 


silver, there absolutely was none. The busy, thriving 
towns, so lately the seats of healthy commercial activity, 
were now silent and deserted. Joined to all this, was 
a fixed belief in the minds of a majority of the population, 
that the war itself was unjust, iniquitous, and unnecessary. 
Public meetings were held, seditious and inflammatory 
public speeches were not only listened to but openly 
applauded. The legislatures of the different States were 
overwhelmed by petitions, demanding resistance to the 
acts of the general government. When affairs were in 
this condition, Massachusetts made a call for a convention. 
To the conservative leaders in Connecticut this looked al- 
most like a separation of their Union. Mr. Hamilton, one 
of, if not the very ablest statesman, stood appalled. An 
absence of several months in Washington had prevented 
him from fully appreciating the sentiment of the people* 
That class in which he had always found the strongest 
supporters, and of which our friend Deacon Knapp may 
be regarded as an example, were, if not in favor of actual 
separation, certainly doing nothing to prevent it. Doctor 
Spencer’s long illness had removed him from any active 
part. Mr. Hamilton knew whichever way the church 
threw her weight, that way would Connecticut act. He 
was inexpressibly touched at the burst of affection which 
greeted him on his entry into Doctor Spencer’s room. 

“ Hamilton, my friend, my pupil, my adviser, are you 
restored to me.” The two men held each other closely by 
the hand, and a silence of several moments followed. Mr. 
Hamilton seated himself in the chair the Deacon vacated, 
and was about making some inquiries as to his friend’s 
health, when he was stopped by the Doctor. 


134 


SIBYL SPENCER. 


“ Pshaw ! ” he said ; “ what matter the health of a frail 
old man. Dark rumors have reached me, even in this 
solitude, rumors of strife, sedition, and even of division. 
Can it be true. Watchman ! tell me of the night.” 

“ Alas, Spencer, it is but too true ! Where is our ark? 
what is our refuge ? ” 

“ Here in the hearts of our northern yeomen,” said the 
old clergyman. “ Division ! it must be checked, and by 
such men as you, Hamilton, who still cling to the old faith.” 

“ Doctor Spencer,” said Deacon Knapp, “ you have 
been a man of God from your youth. You have been 
placed over us in the flesh to minister to us in the spirit. 
And you are bound to lift up your voice and testify to the 
truth, as it is shown you, before the whole congregation.” 

“ Such have ever been my efforts. Deacon, so far as frail 
human nature would permit. But what can I do ? Sick, 
old, helpless. One among so many.” 

“ Much ! ” broke in Mr. Hamilton. I myself came 
here to obtain, if I could, your influence; but I dread the 
effect on your health.” 

The Doctor waved his hand impatiently. 

“ Do you say that we, the yoemen — for I am one, and I 
accept the word, Mr. Plamilton,” said the Deacon, with a 
dignity at variance with' his usual manner — “ are bound to 
submit to tyranny and oppression. To see ourselves ground 
down between the upper and the lower millstone. Our 
sons slaughtered, the substance of our little ones wasted and 
destroyed, to prosecute a war which we know to be not 
only useless, but wicked in the sight of man, and before 
the God of Israel. And I, for one, hope that we — we, the 
people — in whom is all power, form a confederacy, welcom- 


THE QUID NUNCS. 1 35 

ing in such other sister States as feel as we do, under the 
protection of England.” • 

“ Hush ! old man,” exclaimed Mr. Hamilton, springing 
from his chair. “This must not, this shall not be. 
Spencer, the plague has indeed broken forth, and you and 
your brethren must, like Aaron of old, stand between ‘ the 
living and the dead, and stay the plague.’ ” 

“ Will the people submit to a Convention — will they be 
bound by its ruling ? ” asked the Doctor. 

“ These are questions I every day ask myself in vain. 
The overwhelming majority which sides with this old man 
will make our words, I fear, only empty sound.” 

“ Even that will do good, if the words are words of wis- 
dom, temperately, calmly spoken,” said the Doctor. “ But 
can we trust them ? — will not the delegates themselves be 
affected by the insults, the ” 

“ And why shouldn’t it affect them,” broke in the 
Deacon. “ Why should not these men call a spade a spade ? 
Why should we teach our children to huzza every fourth of 
July, at the noble action of our forefathers in signing the 
Declaration of Independence, and we, their children, sit 
down calmly under a tyranny ten times more grinding. Oh, 
don’t shake your head at me, Hamilton. The same Eng- 
lish blood flows in both our veins, although your ancestors 
were gentlemen and mine only yeomen. They both fought 
at Naseby and Worcester, and they were both willing to 
suffer for conscience sake.” 

“ You ask why the reasons Mr. Hamilton has named 
should not sway the delegates to this Convention, Deacon 
Knapp,” said the old clergyman, raising himself with diffi- 
culty on the sofa on which he was lying, a faint color appear- 


136 


SIBYL SPENCER. 


ing on his cheek, in the excitement of the moment. “ I will 
tell you. England denied to us the right of representation, 
and we have it. We may be overruled, but we still have 
the right of voting. Our representatives are a minority — 
an abused, a trampled on minority, if you will — but they 
still hold their seats in the halls of our Senate. The taxes 
under which we groan are laid on us by representatives, 
freely chosen by the people themselves. The common law 
of England, our birthright and our heritage, is still admin- 
istered by our courts. No Lords in Council, no Star 
Chamber spread their gloomy horrors over our land. Caste 
is unknown among our people. Religion, untrammelled by 
an hierarchal state, spreads its fair beams over our country. 
Education is free and open to all. Negro slavery, the blot 
on our institutions, must in the course of a few years die 
out, and' then we shall stand, a free, independent, homo- 
geneous people, owing it all under God, to the very Con- 
stitution which you, vain old man, would rend asunder. 
Go on, Hamilton ; urge on this Convention by pen and 
word. Debate, remonstrate, supplicate even, but never 
rebel. I am weary now,” he said, sinking back, then clasp- 
ing his hands, he added, “ Let us pray.” The old man’s 
face became almost angelic, his eyes were suffused with 
tears, and his voice shook and trembled, but became 
stronger as he went on. 

“ Oh thou, who art the only Shepherd of the sheep ; who 
leadeth thy people by the hand through the dark valley 
of the shadow, and bringest them to the living waters, 
comfort, protect, and bless this thy people. Give them 
true religion. Make them to love, comfort, and protect 
each other. Establish their earthly kingdom in righteous- 


THE QUID NUNCS. 


137 


ness, as an undivided kingdom. Crush out all treasons, 
rebellions, and fratricidal strife. Bless their rulers, en- 
lighten their minds, and give them pure hearts and clean 
hands. Relieve, pity, and forgive this thy servant, who 
now prayeth. Amen.” 

When the two men reached the street, the Deacon was 
the first to break the silence. 

“ Mr. Hamilton, I have been wrong. I have let angry 
feelings and bitterness of spirit lead me away. I am what 
Doctor Spencer called me — a vain old man. Go on in this 
good work. Gather together the elders of Israel, and 
speak words of warning to this stiff-necked and rebellious 
generation. From this moment I will aid you with heart 
and hand.” 

“ I knew you would come out right. Deacon,” said the 
other, warmly wringing his hand. “ It is not from the men 
of your principles that danger will come to our beloved 
country. The struggle which will strain our institutions 
will come from the unprincipled Southern adventurer, when 
he strives to retain in bondage a class of men whose 
only crime is their color, and whom the resistless current 
of human progress will set at liberty, as surely as the day 
star is on high.” 

“ Mr. Hamilton, to change the subject, what will be- 
come of this boy here, this Edward Mason. My heart 
bleeds to see Sibyl’s sad face. I shun the subject. I pre- 
tend not to know he is trembling over the grave, because I 
have not the courage to tell her what I think.” 

“ Alas, my old friend ! I was not able to act as you 
have done. That lovely girl besought me to shield and 
save her lover. I would gladly do so, at the risk of my 


138 


SIBYL SPENCER. 


life. My only hope is in the clemency of the British gov- 
ernment.” 

“Are our people such darned fools as to think any gov- 
ernment on earth is going to give up the right to punish 
desertion of its soldiers in the very face of the enemy, 
and by calling them American citizens, make them any 
the less traitors } ” 

“ My dear sir,” said Hamilton, “ the Irish vote controls 
the State of New York, and with that State rests the dura- 
bility of the Democratic power. Until the election is over 
not one step will James Madison rescind. My only hope 
is that the British Government will delay until after the 
election, and then an exchange of prisoners may be made.” 

“ But we are bringing this war back into barbarism,” 
said the Deacon. “One retaliatory measure leads to an- 
other. Defenceless towns will be sacked and burned next, 
and women and children turned houseless and homeless 
in the field to find shelter where they may.” 

“ Only too true. Have you not heard that the threat 
has been made of making the Canadian peasantry regret 
not having aided our arms.” 

“ Now look here, Mr. Hamilton, do not let us talk any 
more^politics. The solemn sadness of that scene is creep- 
ing over me. That good old man, that fervent prayer, that 
long lingering hope in the future. You can do nothing for 
that boy } ” 

“ For the twentieth time, I say. Deacon Knapp, abso- 
lutely nothing.” 

“ Hamilton, what is the matter with you ? You are not 
what you used to be. The same intellect is there, and the 
same noble heart, but the spirit is not the same like. Con- 


THE QUID NUNCS. 


139 


fide in me. It does a man, even so strong a man as you 
are, ever so much good to pour out his spirit even to some 
poor weak vessel like unto me.” 

“ No, Knapp, not even to you. When a man reaches 
middle life he often finds, that having sowed the wind he 
must reap the whirlwind alone. Good-bye.” 

The two men parted, and as the Deacon stood looking 
after the retreating figure of the statesman, he muttered in 
soliloquy — 

“ There’s the best among them going to wreck. I won- 
der what has caused this change. He could have had any 
office he wanted. ’Tain’t that. Can’t be possible there’s 
a woman at the bottom — Sibyl ” — he whistled softly, and 
added, “ I’ll ask our Sally, she’s smart like all women at 
these things — she will know.” 

The Deacon had taken but few steps from the place 
where he had been standing when he was accosted by a 
man in the worn habiliments of a soldier, who, without 
speaking, stood in front of him pulling off at the sarrie time 
the cap he wore. The Deacon hardly gave him a glance, 
but supposing him to be one of the numerous vagrants 
who made the war a pretext for mendicity and idleness, was 
about delivering a homily on the sin he was committing, 
while at the same time he extended a few coppers. Stern 
and inflexible as were his principles, the Deacon’s pity 
often gave “ ere charity began.” 

“ I’ve no objection to your money. Deacon,” said a 
well-remembered voice, “ but I’d rather earn it. And as 
for the matter of that, I’m not so hard up as I looks. Sup- 
pose we shake hands.” 

“ Bless my soul ! ” said the Deacon, wiping his eyes 


140 


SIBYL SPENCER. 


with his handkerchief, “ if it isn’t Eph. Where on earth 
did you spring from ? ” 

“ Well, now, you see the time I listed for,” returned 
Eph., warmly shaking the extended hand, “ came to an 
end, and as Ed. was no longer there, I thought I’d run 
home and see the folks, ’specially the Parson. Kinder 
thought from what I heard, the old man was a-failing.” 

“ Bless me, how the boy is changed ! ” said the other, 
disregarding the last inquiry, and holding him off at arm’s- 
length. “ Playing soldier seems to agree with you.” 

“You may call it playing if you like, and I sha’n’t con- 
tradict you. But the old gentleman isn’t dead, that ye 
don’t answer a civil question, is he ? ” 

“ No, no, he is not dead. That is, the mind’s here, and 
the sweet loving heart’s here,” continued the old man, his 
voice trembling as he drew the other on by the arm in the 
direction of his farm. “ But the soul is anchored fast on 
the Rock of Ages. You had better come and eat your 
dinner with us. The Doctor has had a little too much ex- 
citement this morning, and the women folks ’ll be sure to 
tell him ye were here. In the cool of the evening — in 
the cool of the evening, we will come up together, or we’ll 
drive Sally and the baby up. May cheer her up a bit.” 

“ Cheer who,” asked Eph., looking at him with wonder- 
ing eyes. “The old lady.” 

“ No, Sibyl. She mourns for the sick father and the 
dead lover, like Rachel in the Holy Book.” 

“ Dead ! ” screamed Eph., “ what, Ed. dead } ” 

“ He might as well be,” muttered the other. “ He is 
one of them hostages the British hold.” 

Ephraim’s puritanical education gave way, and the 


THE QUID NUNCS. 


I4I 

oath he uttered was fearful. For the first time in his life 
the Deacon listened to profanity without administering a 
rebuke. 

“ What. Ed., the boy I played with, the man I’ve loved, 
going to be shot like a dog, and I here safe and sound. 
And Sibyl, old man, tell me about Sibyl. How does she 
bear this ? ” 

“ Sweetly, sweetly,” answered the Deacon. “ They 
have kept it from the Doctor, and she goes round the 
house so pale and sad, it makes your very heart bleed. 
The Doctor’s one of the elect. We know it, we feel it, 
and He will ‘ temper the wind to the shorn lamb.’ Don’t 
you think so, Eph . } ” 

He asked the last question almost pleadingly, as if his 
heart broke through the stern fatalism of his creed, and he 
wished to be assured that mercy and love would be the 
portion of the suffering girl. Eph.’s heart was too full 
for words, he could only nod an assent. It was some 
minutes before the silence was broken. When he asked 
suddenly — 

“ Where’s Sam. Griswold — gone too ? ” 

“ Not as we knows of, thanks be to God ! He’s up there 
somewhere about the lakes. Likely enough we will hear 
of his death. Most of the good ones go first.” 

“ Of course they do,” said the other ; “ but that’s luck. 
But to think of poor Ed. shut up for long weary weeks, 
thinking every morning when the sun rises he is shining on 
his last day. Not a friend to speak to, not a word of sym- 
pathy. Oh ! its too hard.” 

“ Eph., my son, when you get down afore Sally you 
must keep your dander up a little. I don’t wonder she 


142 


SIBYL SPENCER. 


trembles every time any one comes by the door. She is 
so like her mother. So like. Ah, me ! ” 

Mrs. Griswold justified the Deacon’s statement when 
she appeared at the door, her face worn and anxious. She 
had her baby on her arm, a fat, healthy boy, who, young as 
he was, crowed with delight at seeing his grandfather. To 
have some one come fresh from the army who could talk 
and tell all those things which they most longed to know, 
was a pleasure not easily obtained in a quiet New England 
village. Eph. was by nature a keen observer, and his mil- 
itary life had not lasted so long as to turn him into a ma- 
chine, and now loosened from the restraints of discipline, 
his comments were more than free on the conduct of the 


war. 



CHAPTER XIII. 

FALLEN FROM GRACE. 

“ For those that fly and fight again, 

Which he can never do that’s slain.” 

Butler. 

HE Deacon was as good as his word, and in 
the evening he drove Eph. down to Doctor 
Spencer’s. The old gentleman hailed the 
boy’s return with the affection of a father 
He held him at arm’s-length, closely studied his face and 
form, and laughed for the first time in many days, with 
some of the ring of old times. 

“ ’Pon my word,” he said, ‘ Horrida belli,’ if she sac- 
rifices ruthlessly, certainly adorns her victims. Dresses, 
that is the proper word, is it not, eh? Mr. Hamilton. Just 
look, mother, our Eph., whose fondness for bread and 
sugar overcame every restraint, absolutely a sergeant in 
the regular army. Oh, you need not look disdainfully at 
my military talk, I too, have girded my sword upon my 
thigh and ridden in the ranks of war ! ” 

“ I remember, Mr. Hamilton,” Doctor Spencer con- 
tinued, pressing Eph. into a seat by his side and still af- 
fectionately holding his hand, “ I remember in the Sara- 
toga campaign delivering a discourse on the expression 
* Northern Army,’ purposely omitting to give chapter and 
verse. There was hardly a man in the regiment who did 

not read his Bible through, to have the satisfaction of find- 

(143) 




144 


SIBYL SPENCER. 


ing the chaplain in error.” Doctor Spencer lay back on 
his couch and laughed heartily at the remembrance of a 
joke, so strictly in accordance with the Puritan humor of 
New England. 

Taking advantage of the break in her father’s atten- 
tion to Eph., which Mr. Hamilton’s answer caused, Sibyl, 
who was trembling with impatience to question the young 
man on the smallest particular which concerned Edward, 
beckoned him to follow her from the room. Probably in 
Eph.’s life he had never been so thoroughly uncomfortable. 
His keen eye had shown him the deep settled look of an- 
guish which the girl’s face wore, and he hesitated to relate 
to her his apparent, though not real, desertion of Edward. 
He stood before her more like a guilty schoolboy than the 
brave, iron-armed soldier he really was. 

“ Well, well,” she said, in a tone and manner at strange 
variance with her soft, loving nature. “ So you have come 
back, and where is he ? Can’t you answer me — have you 
lost your tongue ? ” 

“ Now you see, Sibyl, somehow we got kinder sepa- 
rated that evening, and as I had charge of some ten of 
our fellows, I didn’t have a chance to look after Ned, as I 
should have wished to.” 

“ You left him, you, his playmate in boyhood — you, 
who called yourself his friend, you left him to save your- 
self. Coward ! ” And the woman hissed rather than 
spoke the insulting word. 

Eph. grew deadly white to the very lips. He trembled 
so that he could hardly stand. Scarcely looking at him, 
Sibyl went on. 

“ Here, in this very room ; there, sitting by that 


FALLEN FROM GRACE. 


145 


window, you were the first one to urge his going into the 
army. ‘We want to show,’ you said, ‘what the old Con- 
necticut blood can do ? ’ Am I not speaking the truth ? ” 

Eph. could only nod. 

“ I speak the truth do I ? You came back without a 
wound. Ephraim Dodge, you have been brought up in 
my father’s house from childhood, sick, and we have 
nursed you, poor, we have clothed and fed you. Where 
now, I ask, is the man I love } ” 

“ Great God ! Sibyl, don’t be so hard on a fellow. You 
know I love Ned. You know that barring the folks in 
this house, there ain’t nobody I care for so much as him. 
I ain’t much given to bragging, but I say it, who shouldn’t 
ought to, I’d take his place to-morrow. But what could I 
do. Now you’ve got a little composed like, let me tell 
you the whole thing. We had been more than twenty 
hours separated from the rest, and Ned he began to get 
worried like. Every few minutes we’d hear the sound of 
bugles, first on our right, then on our left. We were in a 
piece of scrub oak. Sibyl, you don’t know what a scrub 
oak swamp is, until you see one in the Adirondacks.” 

“ Oh, man, you will drive me frantic ! Tell me where 
you last saw him.” 

“ There then, now I didn’t mean it, no, I didn’t, you 
see, we were just caught like a rat in a trap, we were sur- 
rounded, as I may say. It began to get dark, and Ned, 
said he, just hold the men together as well as you can, and 
fall back slowly while I step to that rising ground and 
take a look. And that’s the last I ever see of Ned, nor 
hear tell of him either, until I got back to D . Now 

there’s the truth, so help me.” 

10 


146 


SIBYL SPENCER. 


Sibyl was greatly touched by the boy’s emotion. She 
held out her hand, saying : 

“ I did you injustice, Eph., you are what I always 
thought you, true and honest. But oh, Eph., the agony of 
sitting here, hour after hour and knowing yourself power- 
less, not to be able to hold out a helping hand, not to be 
able to soothe, not to say one word of love ! ” 

“ Can’t nothing be done, Sibyl ? Isn’t there some one 
who would take an interest in Ned’s case ? ’Tain’t no 
use to sit here a-crying. Can’t Mr. Hamilton do some- 
thing with this here blasted government ? You ought to 
ax him, Sibyl, he’s been awful sweet on you afore now.” 

“ I have asked him, time and time again, Eph. But 
you ought not to say such things, you do not know how 
you pain me ; I know that, as a friend, Mr. Hamilton would 
do any thing.” 

“ Dare say, dare say,” said Eph., seating himself and 
extending his legs well out before him. “ Friendship’s a 
fine thing, when ye don’t run it too far. See here, now, 
Sibyl, I ain’t got your education, nor I ain’t so smart as 
Ned, but I ain’t a fool neither. Do ye think I ain’t seen 
the old man a hanging round ye for the last five years for 
nothing — not to speak of the old lady, whose set her heart 
years ago to have you a Senator’s lady.” 

“ How dare you speak to me in this way, sir ? ” said 
Sibyl, springing to her feet, her cheeks red as fire. “ How 
dare you make such insinuations ? ” 

“ Whose ’sinuated any thing I’d like to know ? When I 
say any thing ag’in yer, it’ll be time for yer to defend yer- 
self. That an’t ther question afore the court. The p’int 
is, kin we git Ed. out of prison. Can’t you make the old 


FALLEN FROM GRACE. 


147 


man take another trip to Washington ? I guess ye kin if ye 
try, women can make a man do most any thing when they 
sets their mind to it.” 

“ Oh, Eph., how can you talk so ! Have I not asked 
and begged him almost on my knees. Have I not told 
him I would worship him if he could only get Edward 
off.” 

“ Phew ! wasn’t that going jist a little too far. Ye 
might have said ye’d have remembered him. That’s what 
they tell ye when they bring a horse in as wet as a 
drowned rat, on a July day, and darned little good it does 
you as a rule. Now look here, Sibyl, there’s the Deacon 
a-hollowing, I promised the old man I’d ride back and 
spend the night.” 

“ Why, Eph., are you not going to stay with us ? ” 

“ Not to-night, Sibyl, not to-night. You see, if it got 
round I was to hum ; all the boys would be after getting 
me down to the tavern, and that costs a pile of money. 
No, no, I prefer to take them single in the morning. It 
don’t cost more than half. See here, Sibyl, I am going to 
have a talk with the Deacon. He’s a mighty smart man 
in his way, and there’s no knowing what he may cut out. 
Ned’s not dead yet, by a long shot. So you jist keep up 
your spirits, and come it over the Senator. Do ye under- 
stand ? Good-night ! ” 

Eph. hesitated somewhat about introducing the subject 
to his old companion. He made several ineffectual begin- 
nings, but they were done in such a roundabout manner, 
that the only effect produced was a long stare. The doubt 
of Eph.’s sobriety being for the moment a suspicion in the 
Deacon’s mind. 


148 


SIBYL SPENCER. 


“What on earth’s there to hesitate about ! Why 
shouldn’t Mr. Hamilton set about getting Ed. out of 
trouble. ’Tain’t asking much of the old man any way. 
See here, Deacon.” These last words were uttered 
aloud. 

“Wal,” said the Deacon, giving the reins a jerk to 
quicken the steps of the old horse he was driving — “ wal, 
what on earth ails the boy — ye ain’t giddy, are ye? Ye 
be’ant taken sick like, be you ? ” 

“ Sick ! ” exclaimed Eph., bursting into a hearty laugh 
as he took in the situation ; “ no, no, I ain’t drunk. De 
ye see, I think I’ve put my foot into it.” 

“Judging from the kick you give me just this minute 
I should say it was a pretty big one,” chuckled the Deacon 
at his own wit. “ Tell the old man, boy, is it a gal ? ” 

“ I ain’t taking in any thing I sowed myself — I ain’t 
much given to women. Deacon. I’ve got the old man to 
look after, and he costs so much in these times that I 
can’t afford to even wink at a petticoat — de ye see ! ” 

“ I see you’ve got an old head if it be on young shoul- 
ders, Eph. Dodge — my boy, go on ! ” 

“ Now, Deacon, while you and the others were talking 
in the parlor, Sibyl and I had it out in the dining-room. 
My eyes, what a going over she gave me.” 

“ Going over ; what on earth do you mean ? ” 

“Just what I say,” replied Eph. doggedly. 

They had reached the door of the house at this point 
of the conversation, and the hired man came out to whom 
the Deacon gave the horse, unlike his usual manner, with- 
out a word of advice or direction. He took Eph. by the 
arm and led the way directly to the kitchen, the common 


FALLEN FROM GRACE. 


149 


sitting-room of the family. His daughter, the servant 
girl told him, had gone to bed. He waved his hand im- 
patiently. 

“ 1 want something to drink, Phoebe, I am cold, and I 
am thirsty, and I am tired.” 

He released Eph. as he spoke and proceeded to relieve 
himself from the folds of his dark blue camlet cloak. 
Methodically he hung both cloak and hat in the passage 
behind the front door, speaking to the servant girl as he 
did so. 

“ We will have prayers first, and then, Phoebe, can’t you 
get us a little hot water, and there is, or ought to be, more 
than a half bottle of Jamaica in the cupboard, and then ye 
can go to bed if you’re a-mind to. Do you hear. Reach 
me down the Bible, we won’t wait for John. Yer must be 
sleepy.” 

Eph. was surprised, and to a certain extent pleased, at 
the shortness of the Deacon’s evening devotion. When 
they were alone the old man mixed a stiff tumbler of grog, 
lit his long clay pipe, and seating himself immediately in 
front of the fire spread out both his legs to their utmost 
extent, and exclaimed — 

“ Well ! ” 

“ Well ! ” retorted Eph. 

The Deacon stared at him through his spectacles, 
which he had forgotten to remove. Then pushed the 
glasses up on his forehead, and finally said : 

“ I take back what I said on the street, you’re no better 
than an innocent, you ain’t.” 

Eph. never moved a muscle of his face but hitched his 
chair rather closer to the fire. 


SIBYL SPENCER, 


150 

“ To fall in love with Sibyl, was prehaps natural ; but 
for sich a boy as you to tell her so, was clean agin nature. 
Ephraim Dodge, you’re a fool ! ” 

Eph.’s eyes twinkled with fun. 

“ Prehaps you’re right, Deacon ; I’ve thought so often 
myself. But you mark my words, Deacon Knapp, yu’ve 
got the wrong sow by the ear. When there’s a woman in 
the case, thar’s no fool like an old fool.” 

“ What ! ” sputtered the Deacon, choking between the 
hot rum and his astonishment. The tears stood in his 
eyes at the agony he was enduring. “You have been to 
the public school : let us hear some of the King’s English, 
can’t ye.” 

Eph. slowly allowed himself to sink down in his chair 
until he rested almost on his shoulders, and placed his 
feet nearly on the top of the high wooden mantel. 

“ They make a strong team when they pull together, 
such a man as Mr. Hamilton and the old woman — and 
she’s bent on having Sibyl a grand lady, Mrs. Spencer is.” 

The Deacon gave a long low whistle. “ So you’ve 
found it out, have you — ^you’re cute, you are.” 

“ I can see as far as most men, I can ; but that ain’t 
nothing to the subject. Look a-here. Deacon, nuther 
side’s a-going to hang them prisoners. They’re only going 
to keep um shut up a while. I do believe Sibyl loves Ned 
as well as a woman can love, but you know its a great 
temptation to go and live in New Haven, and be the rich 
lady of the State, and all that, ain’t it now.? ” 

“ Who’d a thought it — who’d a thought it,” muttered 
the Deacon as he leaned over the fire. “ Help yourself, 
there’s more liquor where that comes from. I ain’t in 


FALLEN FROM GRACE. 


I5I 

spirits to night. I’ve pinned my faith on that man. He’s 
better nor fifty-five years old, I’m sixty-five come next 
August. Eph. my boy, as you grow old, you’ll see how 
true the blessed Book is. It’s the old story over again. 
The rich man with his flocks and herds — and he sot his 
heart on the one ewe lamb — who’d a thought it.” 

There was a long silence, broken only by the Deacon’s 
muttered exclamations of disgust as he endeavored to mix 
his toddy to his taste. First too strong, then too weak ; at 
length Eph. said : 

“ There’s no trusting them ere women, I just hinted 
it to Sibyl, and though she fired up like, she got as red as 
if she’d been stealing sweetmeats. I tell you. Deacon, 
there’s no trusting of them.” 

“I suppose not,” muttered the other sorrowfully; “I 
suppose not ; I suspicioned something, but it never struck 
me as how Arthur Hamilton would have broken the tenth 
commandment.” 

“ ’Tain’t so bad as that,” Eph. exclaimed, springing to 
his feet a little unsteadily, for the fire was hot and the 
Jamaica strong. 

“ If I thought as how, I tell you Deacon, if he is the 
head man in the State, I’m damned if — ” 

“ Hush, hush ! ” said the Deacon ; “ it kinder strikes 
me as how we’ve got this thing mixed up, jist as you’ve 
mixed the commandments. Let’s sleep on it, and to-mor- 
row I’ll have a talk' with Hamilton. He won’t get the 
better of me, I can tell you. Thar’s your room : do you 
think you can put out your candle? Guess I’ll blow it out, 
you can see pretty well by the moonshine. Good night ! ” 

It would have been difficult to find a more sheepish 


152 


SIBYL SPENCER. 


looking man than Deacon Knapp on the following morn- 
ing. In honor of Eph.’s return from the war, the old man 
had broken out into unwonted hospitality, and the liquor 
had made him, if not intoxicated, at least garrulous ; and 
what wounded him far more than any thing else, was that 
he had in a slight degree fallen from his high estate. As 
he would have expressed it, he was no longer fit to sit in 
the gate and judge Israel as they passed. 

Shrewd, prudent, and wise beyond his years, Eph. had 
been brought up in a different school. Temperate he was 
both by nature and habit ; but his army experience had 
made him acquainted with many worse scenes. A dip of 
his curly head in a bucket of water fresh from the well, a 
rub with the harsh roller which hung behind the kitchen 
door, the use of a wooden pocket-comb, by the aid of a 
cracked looking-glass hardly larger than his hand, and 
Eph.’s simple toilet was complete. 

The Deacon looked at him in wonder and envy as he 
sat eating heartily of the plain but abundant breakfast. 
For almost the first time in his life the Deacon wished he 
was young again. Oh, how ignorant we are until we lose 
it ! of the strange wild pleasure of merely being young, 
well has the great magician sung, he who could sound 
every “ depth and shoal ” of the human heart, after a 
long, honorable, laborious and successful life — 

“Take the wealth, take the honors ye have brought in your train, 

But give me the joys of my spring tide again.” 

“ Mrs. Griswold, marm,” said Eph. as he pushed back 
his chair with a sigh of exhaustion, “ them sossengers is 
fit for General Washington, and as for the buckwheats, I 


FALLEN FROM GRACE. 


153 


don’t believe I could hold any more if I was to stand up,” 
and he suited the action to the word. Standing with his 
back to the fire he surveyed his host with keen inquiring 
eyes. 

“ It ’pears to me you’re a little off your feed, Deacon. 
That last glass of Jamaica was a mite too much. Thought 
so when you took it.” 

How the Deacon glared at him. What right had youth 
and a strong stomach to grin at him at his own table, and 
far worse than all, before his own daughter. Almost 
pathetically he cast a glance at the woman sitting so 
quietly at the head of the table. He took in the slight 
smile, half smile half sneer, which just curled the corners 
of that handsome mouth. How much she looked like her 
mother ! and, by Jupiter ! she had known it all along. 

“ I am going down to the village, Sally, this morning,” 
said the Deacon with more than ordinary dignity of man- 
ner. “ I am going to have a little talk with neighbor 
Hamilton. There’s a little something going on which 
worries me like — not that I believe it, but then from the 
position I hold in the church on earth — ” 

The Deacon hesitated, colored, at the remembrance of 
last night, and cast a look at his young companion for the 
assistance he needed. 

“Ye see, Mrs. Griswold, marm, the fact of this matter 
is — ” Here Eph. stopped what was the fact which had 
caused so much trouble in his mind. 

“ I guess, Sally, you know as how Ed. Mason’s away, 
don’t ye ? ” 

“ Certainly,” replied the woman as she raised her full, 
honest black eyes to the speaker’s face. “ Everybody 
knows that fact.” 


154 


SIBYL SPENCER. 


“Well, now, you see, the truth is — the Deacon and 
me, we think, don’t we Deacon — that Mr. Hamilton is jist 
a little, only a little — how shall I say it — too thick with our 
Sibyl. Don’t we. Deacon ? ” 

The Deacon hesitated to give any answer to this ap- 
peal. He did not like the look in his daughter’s eyes. It 
was the first time he had ever seen her look at him in that 
way. He cleared his voice once or twice before he an- 
swered : 

“ My daughter, no man acknowledges the weakness of 
poor human nature more than I do. Even the elect on 
’arth may fall a little from grace and yet be saved. It is 
the duty of us who are called to watch over the Israel of 
God to hold out the helping hand, even if he doesn’t 
belong to our communion, when we see him a-struggling 
agin the weaknesses of poor human nature.” 

Sally could stand it no longer, she placed both her 
elbows on the table, leaned her face on her hands, looked 
the man fully in the face, and said in a perfectly clear and 
distinct voice — 

“Just listen to me. Here I am, a woman whose hus- 
band is far away, God knows if he is living or dead ! a 
woman, neither by birth nor intelligence, nor education, to 
be named with Sibyl Spencer. I ask you what would be 
your feelings, as my father, if some stranger to your hearth- 
stone made insinuations against me. I ask — ” 

“ Nobody’s making insinuations,” broke in Eph. “ I’d 
like to see ’em ! I ain’t no fool ! wasn’t I brought up in the 
family ? don’t I love Ed. better nor any thing on ’arth .? isn’t 
the old woman always a-praising up Mr. Hamilton and 
a-telling Sibyl what she’s missed in not setting her cap 


FALLEN FROM GRACE. 1 55 

for him ? Isn’t the man himself thar every day of his life ! 
Don’t I know what you women are ! ” 

“ No you don’t,” burst in Sally, her eyes flashing and 
losing all restraint ; “ you are nothing but a meddlesome, 
officious, interfering school-boy, that’s what you are. 
Father, dear father, listen to me.” 

“ My daughter, it may be you are right ; but my office 
as Deacon in Doctor Spencer’s congregation requires I 
should speak to Arthur Hamilton, and I will do it, this 
day, if I die for it.” 

He left the kitchen, slamming the door after him as 
he went. 



CHAPTER XIV. 

“the word in season.” 

“ But of all plagues, good Heaven thy wrath can send, 

Save, save, oh save me from the candid friend.” 

New Morality. 

R. HAMILTON’S residence was in the town of 
New Haven, but he owned a small house in 

the village of D , to which was attached 

quite a productive farm. Debarred by the 
prejudices of his fellow-citizens from the turf, then the 
great resort of all the large landholders both north and 
south, Mr. Hamilton had turned his attention to cattle, and 
had introduced into Connecticut almost the first imported 
stock animals brought to America. It was questionable 
whether in a pecuniary way he was not largely a loser by 
his agricultural and breeding experiments. Many were the 
sneers and jokes thrown at the squire, and the one ques- 
tion, so dear to the New England heart, was repeatedly 
asked : “ Did it pay ? ” Pecuniarily, No ; as a relaxation 
for the overworked statesman and lawyer. Yes. But 
there was a deeper reason, why he cherished and spent 
every possible moment at this outlying farm. It was by 
(156) 




u 


THE WORD IN SEASON. 


157 


this means he could be, unsuspectedly, as he thought, 
near Sibyl. Perhaps her shadow, passing by, like that of 
Peter’s in Holy Writ, might “ overshadow him.” At all 
events, he could watch, minister and suffer. 

Few persons, had they seen Arthur Hamilton in that 
clear, bright winter’s morning, standing by the fire of the 
room he designated as “ study,” his portly figure set off 
to advantage by the dress of the day, his hair just 
tinged with gray, his color high, his eye bright, every mark 
of a firm, resolute, self-reliant man about him, would have 
thought him the victim of unrequited love. The old 
Deacon, resolute and strong as he was, hesitated at open- 
ing the interview. 

“My old friend,” said Mr. Hamilton warmly wringing 
his hand, “ to what lucky chance am I to attribute the 
pleasure of a visit from you .? You are too independent to 
want a favor, and yet your face indicates trouble and 
anxiety. Sit down and open your heart to me, you have 
no warmer friend.” 

The Deacon cleared his throat. He even went so far 
as to insinuate the possession of a cold. 

“ Well, squire,” he said at length, letting himself fall 
heavily into the chair Mr. Hamilton designated, “its 
been a mighty severe winter on grain, especially wheat — 
not that that’s much account here in Connecticut, seeing as 
how we don’t raise any to speak on. But what with the 
worry of the war an’ the rise in provisions, it’s hard to think 
how many is going afore spring,” 

“ Has the season been more unhealthy than usual. Dea- 
con ? ” asked Mr. Hamilton. 

“ Yes, I should say so,” continued the Deacon, “ not 


SIBYL SPENCER. 


158 

that it matters much when ye go, if yer called. Don’t you 
agree with me, squire ? ” 

“ Certainly, my old friend. If a man’s life and heart 
are right, if matters little when the last hour strikes on 
the dial.” 

“ Jist so, jist so, in that p’int we both agree. But as 
I lay awake, in the dark watches of last night, squire, the 
thought come over me of the story of ‘ David and Uriah 
the Hittite ; ’ you remember it, don’t ye, squire ? ” 

“ I certainly am sufficiently well read. Deacon, in my 
Bible,” said Mr. Hamilton with a laugh, drawing his chair 
close to the fire, “ not to have passed over perhaps the 
most dramatic story in the Old Testament.” 

“ If that’s so, and I believe ye,” said the Deacon, fixing 
his cold blue eye on his companion, “ I tell you, Arthur 
Hamilton, as Nathan said unto David, ‘Thou art the man.’ ” 

Mr. Hamilton sprang to his feet. His face flushed, and 
he clenched, perhaps unconsciously, his hands. His voice 
was low and deep as he said : 

“ This passes the license of the sect to which you 
belong. How dare you utter such words to me ? Here 
sitting at my hearth-stone ; how dare you dishonor me by 
such an imputation ? ” 

“ How dare I, do you ask, Arthur Hamilton ? ” said the 
old Puritan, his eye glittering like the blue icicle of his 
northern hills — “because I am the friend of that girl’s father; 
because I am called to speak the word in season and out 
of season ; because,” and his voice faltered as he laid his 
hand on the shoulder of the haughty man who stood quiv- 
ering with anger before him, “because you have been, 
since you were twenty, the personification of all that was 


“the word in season.” 159 

noble and true and good in the old English stock we have 
both sprung from. I’ll not see you fall, Arthur Hamilton, 
without lending you a helping hand.” 

Mr. Hamilton shook off the hand that rested on his 
shoulder, and walked angrily up and down the room ; sud- 
denly he stopped in front of the Deacon. His face had 
lost the flush of anger, and he had grown very pale. 

“ Mr. Knapp, what the h do you mean ” 

It was the first time in an acquaintance of twenty years 
that the man addressed had heard an oath fall from the 
lips of Arthur Hamilton. The old man stood firm — his 
eyes never fell nor did his voice shake, and yet there was a 
concentrated ferocity in the accent of Mr. Hamilton, which 
might have made a resolute man tremble. 

“ What do I mean, do you ask ? you’re getting into a 
temper shows I am right — ‘ The rich man had flocks and 
herds and exceeding great riches,’ the good Book says, 
and the poor man ‘ only one pet ewe lamb.’ I tell ye again, 
Arthur Hamilton, ‘ you are the man.’ ” 

It was by a tremendous struggle that the haughty senator 
kept down any further signs of wrath. He looked into the 
clear blue eye, and over the weather-worn frame of the 
Deacon — he actually stretched himself as if for a moment 
contemplating a fierce physical onslaught ; then slowly 
turned and walked to the window of the room, and looked 
out on the bleak, snow-clad fields. His mind, rapid in 
thought, brought before him the numerous little incidents 
which might have been tortured by the gossip of a country 
village. He saw the sweet, gentle girl, who treated him only 
as the dear cherished friend. He had never breathed a word 
of love since that day — never made a gesture which the 


i6o 


SIBYL SPENCER. 


whole world might not have seen — yet he might have done 
her an injury. He had done so, the unmerited rebuke of 
the old man told him so. He turned, the Deacon was 
standing, his hands behind his back, his head thrown for- 
ward, his eyes cold and bright. 

“ Edward Mason, Mr. Knapp, came home last night.” 

“ Was it your doings ? ” 

“ No ! ” thundered rather than spoke the other. “ Sit 
down there in that chair. I am a man, and as such have a 
right to speak, even to a saint.” 

“ I ain’t no saint,” muttered the Deacon. 

“ You think yourself one at any rate. Come, let me be 
honest. After your lights, you are trying to do your duty. 
Sit down there, I ask it as a favor. Mr. Knapp, you were 
more than half right. From the bottom of my soul I envy 
Edward Mason. Stop ! you have brought this on yourself ; 
you must hear me out. From my youth up I have made the 
world my home. Ambition, political success, the applause 
of men, was my delight. There came creeping over me, 
how I know not, a softer, holier feeling. 1 found pleasure 
in things at which, years before, I should have smiled — a 
home, a fireside, in which the wayworn man, the unsuccess- 
ful aspirant for honors not his, could find rest and peace. 
Do you understand me ? ” 

“ Well, yes ; you were weary. Ah, me ! I’ve been 
weary too many’s the time since Sally died.” 

“ ’You had your daughter : I was alone. I used to come 
here to talk with James Spencer, my old tutor at college, 
my guide, my friend in later years. There I saw this vision 
— she slowly broke upon me in all her youthful sweetness. 
She came to the man tired in spirit and in heart, as springs 


“the word in season.” l6l 

of water break out of a barren and dry land, to the way- 
worn traveller.” 

“ You shouldn’t have allowed yerself to dwell on her. 
You should have fled the spot when you saw the danger,” 
broke in the Deacon, deeply interested in the narrative. 

“ Old man, I am not what you call a religious man. 
Through life I have made honor my guide.” 

“Yes, yes, I feared so,” interrupted Knapp. “ ’Tis al- 
ways, or most generally, so with your class. Ye scorn the 
word of life when it is held out to you in youth. Ye try to 
make-honor yer sheet-anchor, and ye get shipwrecked when 
the winds blow, and the waves run high.” 

“ Hear me through,” said Hamilton, smiling in spite of 
himself at the quaint mixture of metaphor employed by 
the other. “ Sibyl Spencer is so self-contained, so calm 
and gentle to all, that until the morning she refused to be 
my wife, it never entered my head to dream she loved 
another, much less this boy, this Edward Mason.” 

“ Where were your eyes, squire. Why they belonged as 
much to one another as if they had been called three times 
in meeting. Yer never would have been took in so, if it 
had been a question of politics. Would ye now ? ” 

“I admit my blindness. But you, you who have 
known me from boyhood. Shame ! shame old man, to have 
for one moment thought that Arthur Hamilton, for the 
wealth of the universe, to obtain that which he values more 
than wealth or titles or power, would stoop to do a base 
act. Love her I do, but I love my manhood more.” 

“ I believe ye,” said the Deacon, holding out his hand. 
“ I believe ye squire, I’ve been an ass — that’s the long 
and short of it. I ought to have judged you as I judge my- 

II 


i 62 


SIBYL SPENCER. 


self. I loved my Sally as well as ever man loved a woman. 
Her picture is hanging over my bed, and the last dress she 
wore is a-hanging in the closet. There’s not the woman 
living can make me forget the sweet face. I see it every 
time I look at my darter. She was bone of my bone and 
flesh of my flesh. So ye see, I can feel for yer. There is 
no consolation in that I know. You are, as you jist now 
said, a true man, and you hide your grief in your own 
breast. Good-by ! God bless you ! I was a fool ! I was a 
fool ! ” 

“ Stop, stop ! ” said the other holding him back. “ I am 
not half done — you say I am a man. Do you think that 
manhood was not tried when that girl, alniost on bended 
knees, asked me, the rejected lover, to save the successful one 
from an ignominious death ! To see day by day that pale 
cheek grow paler, and that soft eye more languid, and know 
I was powerless to assist or help. Was it in human nature, 
I ask you now as a man — would it not hav£ been more than 
human, to have wrapt myself in a stoical philosophy I do 
not possess and gone off into the world, leaving her to 
suffer. Old man, from the moment Sibyl Spencer told me 
she loved another, I knew the grave had swallowed up my 
love. She was suffering and I could suffer. Her joys are 
my joys, her pains are my pains. I had my reward. It was 
my voice that told her her lover lived. It was my hand 
that last night led him to her. Their happiness shall be 
my care, so long as life lasts, so help me God ! ” 

Deacon Knapp sat silently by the fire. He had heaped 
the brands together on the hearth, and bent over the 
flickering blaze. His face, strong and rugged, wore a softer 
expression than usual, and he drew a long breath as Mr. 
Hamilton concluded. 


“the word in season/' 163 

‘‘ You come of a race which we have long honored here 
in Connecticut, Arthur Hamilton, and for many a year 
there’s been none more honored, as least till the democrats 
came in ; but you are ahead of the best of them. You are 
worthy of your blood — I couldn’t have acted as you do. But, 
thank the Lord ! I shall never be tempted, — never be 
tempted.” 

There was a long pause, broken at last by the Deacon. 

You called me a saint, when I first came in. I am no- 
thing but a foolish, conceited old man. Because I don’t 
care for women ; because I don’t go a-gadding round the 
country like that Major Baylies, making a fool of myself 
with a lot of chits young enough to be my granddarters — 
I thought myself strong ; and I had my temptations ; yes, 
I did. I thought myself strong. I was proud in my own 
conceit. I took the highest seat — I didn’t wait until the 
master said, ‘ Friend, go up higher.’ I have had a 
lesson — I have had a lesson.” , 

Unmindful of any thing Mr. Hamilton could say, the 
Deacon left the room. The old horse stood patiently in 
front of the door, and muttering to himself Deacon Knapp 
untied him and clambered into the old sleigh. He had 
made an appointment to meet Eph. at the tavern, and he 
saw him standing by the bar room window, but the old man 
never pulled rein. Eph. rushed out, but the sleigh and 
driver disappeared in the direction of the farm. 

“ S’pect the old man’s got a flea in his ear. God bless 
my soul ! ” he exclaimed in a voice which startled the 
loungers in the tavern. “ Glory, glory Hallelujah ! if thar 
ain’t Ned Mason himself.” 

The man’s delight was touching. He laughed, he cried, 


164 


SIBYL SPENCER. 


he danced with joy. He asked Edward the same question 
over and over again, never awaiting for the reply. Edward 
was turned round and round, felt, examined, punched and 
slapped on the back until his breath was almost gone. The 
idlers at the tavern had all turned out to add their con- 
gratulations, and satisfy their curiosity, by listening to the 
story whatever it might be. But Eph. was too jealous of his 
friend to allow any partnership in this first meeting. He 
drew Edward forcibly away, turning a deaf ear to all 
inducements of taking something just for luck. 

“ Well, well,” he said impatiently, when they had almost 
reached the parsonage, “ hain’t yere got any thing to say 
to a fellow, now you’ve come back safe and sound. I’ve 
been doing more cussing on your account than forty 
parsons ’d be able to pray away in a month of Sundays. 
How did they treat you, and how did you get away } 
That’s what I want to know.” 

“ Well, Eph. old boy,” said Edward kindly pressing the 
arm of the warm-hearted young man, ‘‘ you do not give a 
man much of a chance when you start to do the talking. 
How did they treat me ? As well as could be expected. 
Shut up in one of the casemates in the Citadel of Quebec ; 
and as to how I got away — as soon as our government 
agreed to an exchange of prisoners, I was released on 
parole, not to serve until exchanged.” 

“ Do tell nov/,” Continued Eph. ; “ you always was lucky, 
Ned, that’s a fact. And have you got your exchange 
papers all right, and when is you going back ? ” 

“ Mr. Hamilton has arranged my exchange, and besides 
has had me appointed on the staff of General Brown, who 
commands on the New York line.’^ 


“the word in season; 165 

‘‘ Oh, he has, has he,” replied Eph. in so dry a tone, so 
utterly unlike the one which he usually used, that it caused 
Edward to glance at him in surprise. Eph.’s face told 
nothing. His look was fastened obstinately on the ground, 
and Edward w'ent on. 

‘‘ Yes, I am very fortunate in getting the appointment. 
General Brown is said by every one to be the rising man 
on our side, and this is a big step up in the line of pro- 
motion. Will you go back with me to the army, or have 
you had enough of soldiering.?” 

“I’ll see. I’ll see. So Mr. Hamilton got this here 
appointment for ye, did he ? How long do you stay to 
home .? ” he asked in the same dry tone. 

“ Not more than two or three days, at the most. Just 
long enough to make it hard to leave the dear friends again. 
But such is fate.” 

“ How did Mr. Hamilton know you was going to get 
out, and when did he get you this appointment ? ” queried 
Eph. 

“ Oh, I don’t know,” said Edward carelessly. “You are 
as curious as an old woman.” 

“ May be I am,” retorted Eph. doggedly, “and then again 
may be I ain’t. Prehaps I can see as far into a millstone 
as any one else. What makes Mr. Hamilton take such an 
interest all of a sudden in you Ned ? He ain’t no kin of 
yours, like ? ” 

“ Not that I know of,” said the other stopping and 
looking his friend straight in the face. 

“ Come, Eph., out with it. I know you of old. What 
is it you’ve got to say. Speak it out like a man.” 

Eph. hesitated. He was sincere in his love for Ed- 


SIBYL SPENCER. 


1 66 

ward, and his cautious Yankee nature made him anxious 
not to place himself in bad relationship with so powerful a 
man as Mr. Hamilton. Besides, after all, it was but suspi- 
cion. These thoughts ran through his mind, and were 
seen by Edward’s clear eyes, almost plainly written on his 
face. He took Eph. firmly by the arm, and said earnestly — 

“ See here, my boy, you and I have been friends ever 
since we were knee high. Something has happened which 
I ought to know. What is it ? Don’t try and put me off. 
I can read it in your face. Now like a simple, manly fel- 
low, as you are, tell me all.” 

Thus questioned, after a moment’s twisting and turn- 
ing, Eph. gave way, and in his quaint manner told Edward 
his suspicion of Mr. Hamilton’s devotion to Sibyl, and of 
Mrs. Spencer’s evident match-making aspirations. To do 
him justice, he softened rather than increased the few 
facts he had to tell, and spoke only of Sibyl, as in his 
opinion, still being warmly in love with Edward. Place 
them as he would, there was enough to rouse all the jeal- 
ousy of Edward’s nature, and he ground his teeth and 
stamped his foot with anger. 

“ See now,” said Eph., in his turn, laying a restraining 
hand on the fiery young man, “ don’t you go and make 
a fool of yourself. Sibyl’s all right, I can tell you ; just 
you have a talk with her ; she’s a mighty sensible gal, our 
Sibyl is, I can tell you. And more than that, it’s a mighty 
nice thing to have a man like the Squire push you ahead 
as he does, I can tell you.” 

“ He ! he ! ” said Edward savagely. 

“ That’s all very well. He ain’t to blame neither. It’s 
all the old woman’s doing. With her high and mighty air 


“the word in season.” 167 

as if there wasn’t folks good enough for her to be had in 
the village.” 

There was something of a pause. Edward evidently had 
not heard a word of the last few sentences the man had 
said. He was standing kicking his foot against a piece of 
ice, his eyes fastened on the ground, and his lips moving as 
if talking to himself. He was evidently in great mental pain 
as well as in anger. 

“ See here now, Ned,” said Eph., enforcing his remarks 
with a slap to attract the other’s attention, “ yere ain’t 
come back with much money in your pockets, I suspect, 
has yere } ” 

Edward smiled bitterly. 

“ I never was what the world or Mrs. Spencer would 
call a good match ; and this war, in destroying almost all 
the little property I ever had, has not made me a better one. 
Why, man, I haven’t got ten dollars in the world ! ” 

“ You haven’t lost the old farm, have you ? ” asked 
Eph., anxiously pointing his thumb in the direction it was 
supposed to lie. “ I have got,” he went on to say in low, 
hesitating tones, just about one thousand dollars lying 
loose. I’d take it kindly, Ned, if you’d take it and invest 
it for me. You can pay me interest on it while in your 
hands. You see,” he continued, interrupting Edward as 
he was about speaking, “ I am pretty good at a trade, but 
when it comes to laying out money, I ain’t had education 
enough ; do you see, now .? ” 

“ You are a good fellow, Eph., and if I want money, I 
would rather take it from you than from anybody else.” 
As he said this he turned to enter the house. 

“Just see, now,” said Eph., detaining him. “If you 


i68 


SIBYL SPENCER. 


would feel any better you can give me your note. Or Ned, 
you might make it a mortgage on the farm. It must be 
worth more than a thousand dollars, even in these times ; 
ain't it, now ? ” 

Edward smiled at this evidence of cautious affection 
on the man’s part, and nodding to him entered the house. 
Eph. at first made a motion as if to follow. Then paused 
and muttered in a low tone — 

“ Guess I’d better go look after the old man. Them 
folks at the tavern may have understood me to have opened 
an account for him to-day. If that’s so, and I get off for 
ten York shillings, I am lucky. 



CHAPTER XV. 


A lover’s quarrel. 

“ Dare to be true, nothing can need a lie ; 

A fault which needs it most grows two thereby.” 

Herbert. 



HE Deacon had gotten into his sleigh with a 
dogged expression of determination on his face, 
which boded ill for any peaceful interview with 
Mr. Hamilton. Mrs. Griswold had made no at- 
tempt to dissuade him from going. She knew his character, 
and that opposition and entreaty would be alike unavailing. 
To let Sibyl be attacked while she remained silent was to 
Sally Griswold impossible. She called the hired man, 
and bade him drive her to the village, and before she had 
made up her mind as to what she would do, she was in 
Sibyl’s presence. The quick-witted woman saw at once 
that something unusual had occurred. The eye, which 
had been so sad and heavy, now shone with recovered 
light. The step, so listless and languid, was now firm and 
elastic. The very atmosphere in which Sibyl moved, 
seemed changed ; it needed not the happy words of greet- 
ing to tell the story that Edward Mason had returned. 
What an astonishing alteration a few short hours had 
made ! With what deep interest were the hundred little 
trifles of domestic life inquired into ! Then the baby — for 

(169) 



170 


SIBYL SPENCER. 


the little fellow never left his mother ; how many teeth 
' had he ; how he had grown ; when had she heard from his 
father ? Oh, she was so happy, Sibyl thought this world 
was paradise itself ! 

“Just think, Sally, how more than kind Mr. Hamilton 
has been. He not only arranged for Edward’s immediate 
exchange, but obtained for him this leave of absence ; no 
small favor, let me tell you, and has added to it all by 
having him appointed on the staff of General Brown.” 

Why was it that this eternal recurrence to Mr. Hamil- 
ton grated on Mrs. Griswold’s feelings ! She had felt 
indignant that morning at her father and Eph., now, she 
did not know why, but somehow, she shared their feelings. 

“ Sibyl, dear — ” Sally hesitated how she should say the 
thoughts which came into her head. “ Sibyl, dear, are you 
not very intimate with Mr. Hamilton ? ” 

“ Why, of course we are, you foolish child. He is the 
kindest, dearest, best friend a person ever had. What 
father would have done without him these long weary 
months no one can tell ! ” 

“ You know, Sibyl, how very, very fond 1 am of you } ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ You won’t be angiy if I say something to you, will 
you ? ” 

“ Angry, why should I ? of course not. What is it ? ” 

“ I wouldn’t hurt your feelings for all the world, Sibyl, 
dear. There is no one I love so much as you except 
father a'hd Sam. and — and — the baby, you know.” 

“ Now, Sally, what is it } ” said Sibyl, laughing. “ What 
awful idea has that stupid little head of yours got in it } 
What have all the old women in the village been saying } 


A lover's quarrel. 1 71 

Do not hesitate, I can see in your eyes that I am right. 
Am I not ? ’’ 

“ Yes.” 

“ And because the man of all others my father most 
loves and respects, does an hundred little acts of kindness 
to that old friend and his family, you — ^you — the playmate 
and companion of my girlhood, believe me capable of for- 
getting my plighted word — believe that I would be false 
to my love, my life. Oh, Sally ! ” 

“ No, no, Sibyl, I did not believe any thing of the kind. 
It was only that people will talk, and then I was so afraid 
it might get to his ears, you know. That I — that I — ” 

“ That you thought you would come and tell me your- 
self. And was that kind ? Listen to me, Sally. All the 
time Sam. was away, I mean before you were married, 
when you used to change as often as an April day. At 
one time coming here and setting by this fire for hours, si- 
lent, with the big tears in your eyes, dying to tell, and yet 
keeping it like a true woman to yourself. And then the 
next day dancing and coquetting with any man you met at 
any frolic in the neighborhood. Suppose now I had gone 
to you and told you all the idle gossip that floats in a Con- 
necticut village ; what would you have said to me, Sally ? ” 
“ Oh, Sibyl, don’t speak to me so. Please don’t.” 

“ Well, but listen to me, Sally, I am not half through 
yet. You loved Sam as well, perhaps, as I love Edward ; 
but you had never told him so. You had never promised 
before the world to be his wife.” 

“ But suppose these things get to Edward’s ears, dear 
Sibyl — men are so jealous } ” 

“ Is woman’s faith so trifling a thing ? Are trust and 


172 


SIBYL SPENCER. 


confidence and belief in the woman he is about to make 
his wife as nothing, think you, in his eyes ? Do you doubt 
your husband, even though he be separated from you ? ” 

“ No ; of course not. But men are so different from 
us, Sibyl. I do not know how it is, but they seem to ex- 
pect every thing and give nothing. Please don’t be angry 
with me, Sibyl. It would break my heart to have you cold 
or angry with me. I wish I had never said a word to you 
about this, I do ! ” 

“ Angry with you ? Of course I am not angry with 
you, Sally, you foolish child. I am very glad you told me 
what you did. ‘Trifles light as air ’ become strong proofs 
sometimes. There has not been a thought or word or ac- 
tion which the whole world might not have seen or heard 
or known. I hid my love for him ; what maidenly woman 
does not hide her love until she has been asked ? But 
now I glory in showing to the world that the man who is to 
be my husband, has my every hope, and thought, and wish, 
and fear. I love him next to my God. I sometimes think 
I love him better. Ah me ! God forgive me, if it is so, 
for I cannot help it ! ” 

It would have required a much more obdurate heart 
than that of Sally Griswold not to have been fully con- 
vinced of the idle character of her own suspicions. There 
was but one course left her — woman’s unfailing remedy in 
all ills and woes. She cried. And Sibyl cried too. 
While they were enjoying what might well be called this 
“luxury of woe,” Edward walked into the room. His 
quick eye took in the scene at once. Nor did it tend to 
decrease the feeling of growing jealousy, which Eph.’s un- 
lucky words had fanned into a blaze. Yet at what had he 


A lover’s quarrel. 


173 


a right to feel even the premonitory symptoms of jealousy ? 
Did not Sibyl’s every changing thought, which chased each 
other across her speaking face, proclaim he was their sole 
object ? Was not every movement redolent of love? Did 
not those deep, pure, brown eyes meet his with all the in- 
nocent delight of a woman’s loving nature ? All this he 
admitted — all this and more. And yet he was jealous. 

Mrs. Griswold was naturally anxious to learn the story 
of trial and imprisonment through which he had passed, 
and her continued questioning did not tend to allay the 
irritation under which he labored. 

Sibyl endeavored to meet and parry this petty exhibi- 
tion of temper, as any other woman would have done, but, 
it must be confessed, with but little success. It was an 
intense relief to her when her friend took her departure, 
and they two were left to themselves. Yet mingled with 
this regret at Edward’s temper, there was in Sibyl’s heart 
a feeling of pleasure. You cannot reason about it. That 
strange complex creation, the human heart, always finds a 
certain pleasure in being the object of a jealous passion, 
however unfounded or ridiculous.' As Edward stood there, 
his back against the fire, his handsome face, dark and 
troubled, his eyes seeking yet shunning those which were 
upraised to his, there went through Sibyl’s heart a thrill 
which she would not have been a woman not to have glo- 
ried in — 

“ Edward!” 

“Well!” 

The word was harshly spoken. Sibyl’s eyes filled at 
once. Edward bit his lips to avoid showing the self-irrita- 
tion he felt at having so spoken. 


174 


SIBYL SPENCER. 


“ What is it, dear ? What is it you wish to say ? ” 

Edward had made an effort, but the true ring was not 
yet in the words. 

“ In what way have I annoyed or pained you, that you 
look at me so ? ” 

“ How do I look ? This is childish, Sibyl. A man 
can’t keep his face eternally in a broad grin.” 

“ Have I offended you, Edward ? ” 

“ Offended me ? How should you of all persons offend 
me ? You are mistress of your own actions.” 

“ No, dear, I am not. I am not my own mistress, and 
you know it.” 

“ I ! How should I know it'? And who is, pray ? ” 

“ You ! you are. Of thoughts, of words, of actions, of 
life itself.” 

Edward turned away, and his laugh stung Sibyl by the 
‘latent sneer which lurked- in it. 

“ No, dear, you sha’n’t turn away. I am not going to 
sacrifice life’s happiness even to avoid a sneer. I ask again, 
how have I offended you ? ” 

“ And I say again — O Sibyl ! why, why have you ceased 
to love me ? ” 

“ Ceased to love you, Edward. Why my whole soul is 
yours. Who says such a thing ? Who has dared to throw 
out such an insinuation ? ” 

Edward turned suddenly and drew a chair close to 
the one on which she was sitting, and taking one of her 
hands, said : 

“ Sibyl, hear me. I make no charge, I bring no accusa- 
tion. When you accepted me for your husband, you knew 
I was poor. You knew I had nothing to offer you except 


A lover’s quarrel. 


175 


what I could wring from the world in the hard struggle of 
a professional life. Should I escape the dangers incident 
to the service I am now in, it will be only to commence 
again at the very lowest round of the ladder.’’ 

“Do I ask for more, dear,” said Sibyl, laying her 
other hand lovingly on his. “ If there are hardships, I 
will share them, if by so doing I can but cheer or comfort 
you in the struggle. I can say like Ruth of old, ‘ thy 
people shall be my people,’ yes, and ‘ thy God my God. ’” 
There was such simple trust and love in the accent of 
the woman, that not to believe her was impossible, and 
yet — . , 

“ Listen to me, Edward,” Sibyl said, still fondly holding 
the hand she had clasped. “ I know what has brought on this 
feeling, this jealousy, for it is nothing but that. You think, 
no, you do not think, but you have heard from some foolish, 
meddlesome person, that I was looking regretfully at the 
‘ flesh-pots of Egypt.’ Is it not so ? I thought so, dear. 
Now, listen to me. There are moments when a woman is 
justified in speaking, even if she betrays the secrets of an- 
other. This is one of them. All this money, this position, 
this station in the world could have been mine. It was 
offered me before you asked me to be your wife.” 

“ I know Sibyl, I remember.” 

“ Stop, dear. Hear me through, Edward, patiently, 
kindly, lovingly. Oh, my heart yearns so for your love ! 
But there is a point, dear, beyond which the most loving 
woman’s nature cannot pass. No woman, no true woman 
worthy of being an honest man’s wife, can forfeit her self- 
respect. Family, wealth, position, all these are as nothing. 
God’s own decree is, ‘Ye twain shall be one.’ Your 


176 


SIBYL SPENCER. 


plaything, your toy, I cannot be. I give you all, for I de- 
mand all. My trust is as boundless as my love. I de- 
mand the same.’' 

The girl’s face had become radiant as she spoke. Her 
whole heart looked out of her eyes. Those great, deep, 
soul-lit eyes. How contemptibly small he felt in the pres- 
ence of such a character. As if any doubt could exist where 
such love was. He had said nothing, but his face had told 
all. A thrill of pride ran through Sibyl, as she raised the 
hand she still held and pressed it to her lips. The heart, 
unspoken, had asked for pardon, and it had been sealed 
by a kiss. 

How long they sat thus hand locked in hand, they 
knew not. In after years one of the two would recall this 
hour, the deepest, brightest, softest in their young lives. 
It seemed almost a crime, when the door opened and Mr. 
Hamilton walked into the room. He rested his elbow on 
the mantel and looked at the two young people with an 
amused smile. 

“ I have passed the time of life, Ned, my boy,” he said, 
“ when a man thinks it a shame to have loved a woman. 
Have loved, did I say — to still love.” 

“ Oh, Mr. Hamilton,” broke in Sibyl, the hot blood 
rushing tumultuously to every feature, “ how can 3^ou 
say—” 

“ How can I say what, my child ? That I love you ? ” 
There was a tinge of sadness in the voice. It was the 
only homage he paid to that power which has bound 
the necks of the mighty of this earth. “ The idle gossip 
of a New England village has spread it to the four 
winds of heaven. Had that been all, it would have been 


A LOVER S QUARREL. 


177 


but as the idle wind. But it is not all. These same tongues 
have dared to couple Arthur Hamilton’s name with actions 
which, only to have dreamed of, would have been dis- 
honor. Listen to me. To leave the army now, Edward, 
were to forswear the blood you came from. You cannot 
put your hand to the plough and look back. Trust this 
girl, during your absence, to my care. Surely ” — a merry 
smile ran across his features — “ a young knight does not 
fear a weather-beaten, worn-out veteran as a rival in any 
love passage. And you, Sibyl,” he took her hand, “ may 
I not be a brother, a kind, a loving, an elder brother ! 
There,'! thought so. Now we can face even the redoubt- 
able Deacon Knapp.” 

It was strange the power which this man wielded. Ed- 
ward was angry. He was hurt sorely in man’s tenderest 
feelings, in his empire, as he had thought, over the woman 
he loved. And with it all, it needed but a bright glance of 
the eye, one warm grasp of a hand he felt was honest and 
true and manly, and his suspicions had melted into thin 
air. 

Edward had his preparations to make for his departure. 
His leave only extended for ten days, and such was the 
difficulty of travelling in those times, that more than half 
had already been expended. Although angry at Eph., 
whose insinuations had raised all the tumult in his breast, 
Edward was still too well aware of the dog-like fidelity of 
the man, and of the deep, earnest affection he treasured for 
him, not to desire he should again be his companion. He 
therefore sought him out, and after some preliminary fenc- 
ing, asked the blunt question — 

“ What made you think Sibyl had jilted me, Eph. ? ” 

12 


178 


SIBYL SPENCER. 


“ What say ? ” responded the other, his face assuming at 
once the want of expression of a wooden image. 

Edward bit his lips. He saw his mistake. The ques- 
tion had been too abrupt. “ You were telling me, Eph., 
this morning,” said Edward, carelessly throwing his leg 
over the arm of a chair. They were in the barroom of the 
village tavern. “You said, I think this morning, that you 
thought the Squire had not fully gotten over his feeling 
for our Sibyl.” 

There was something very tempting to Eph. in the way 
this was put. It identified him at once with the family, 
and it paid a silent and therefore none the less appreciated 
compliment to his sagacity. 

“ I disremember, Ned, saying any thing so bold of my 
neighbors.” 

“ Well, perhaps it was not said in exactly that language ; 
but you thought you would put me on my guard.” 

“ Guard ! ” said Eph., “ was there any thing to guard 
against ? ” 

“ Confound the fellow ! ” muttered Edward. “ See here, 
Eph., you and I are friends of long standing. I can speak 
with you as I could not with any other man. I have had 
a talk with Hamilton, and he is a noble, high-toned gentle- 
man.” 

“ So.” 

“ And I am indebted to him for more favors than I can 
tell. He has obtained for me a place on the staff.” 

“ Jist so.” 

“ Look here, once for all ; are you going back to the 
army with me on Friday, or are you not } ” Edward’s tone 
was angry, and his face had flushed. 


A lover’s quarrel. 179 

Eph. had assumed the same attitude which Edward had 
relinquished. 

“ There’s no use in you’re getting your dander up with 
me, Ed. There’s no more fight in me than in a dunghill 
cock, where you’re consarned. I have thought the matter 
over a bit, and the next time Ephraim Dodge puts his 
fingers betwixt a pair of scissors, you can tell him of it, 
you can.” 

Any anger Edward may have felt disappeared in the 
hearty burst of laughter which Eph.’s frank confession called 
forth. 

It was with a sigh of intense relief that Eph. slowly 
raised himself from his chair, and faced the now smiling 
young man. 

“ You ax me if I’s going back with you ? In course 
I am ; and the day you are wiped out ” — he made a long 
pause, — his eyes twinkled with suppressed fun as he 
chuckled rather than said — 

“ ’Twould have done your heart good, Ned, had you seen 
the Deacon, jist for all nature sich another darned fool as 
I be. He sot before him the task of speaking the ‘ word 
in season ’ to the Squire. He wasn’t gone more nor half 
an hour. I was to meet him on the piazza here. Lord, 
how he did quilt the old horse as he went by here. He 
looked neither to the right hand nor to the left. I knows 
you’re temperate, but on this ‘ propetious occasion,’ as they 
say on the Fourth of July, Billy,” addressing himself to the 
innkeeper, “jist you make the Captain and I two of the 
hottest and stiffest glasses of Jamaica you ever made in 
your life. Now Ed., let’s call this quits.” 



CHAPTER XVI. 

THE HUDSON. 

“ The gales that rush o’er hills of snow 
The ruddy cheek of health bestow ; 

To manly firmness brace the nerve, 

And mental purity preserve.” — O ld Song. 

LOW range of mountains divides the western 
part of Connecticut from the Hudson River. 
These are, in fact, a prolongation of the Green 
Mountains of Vermont, and although not by any 
means so lofty, resemble them in general outline. The road 

from D led Mason and his companion by a succession 

of valleys, winding in and out among the hills, and past 
numerous little lakes, which glittered blue and cold in the 
winter sunlight. Their first day’s ride brought them to 
the little village of South-East, on the borders of the Croton, 
then a rushing, brawling mountain stream. As the tired 
horse plunged his nostrils in the clear water. Mason little 
thought, a few short years, and this same river would be 
feeding the necessities of the metropolis of the western 
world. 

Evening had closed in as the two men reached the vil- 

(i8o) 



THE HUDSON. 


l8l 


lage of Fishkill Landing, and it was with a sense of in- 
tense enjoyment that Edward sat down by the bright fire 
in the bar room of the old “ Star Inn.” His happiness 
was, however, of short duration ; the ever-inquiring mind of 
Eph. had discovered the fact that the intense coldness of 
the night was likely to close the river, and that travel might 
necessarily be suspended for several days. 

“ Come out here, Ned, and look for yourself,” said 
Eph., dragging Edward by the arm on to the piazza which 
ran along the front of the inn. A strong north-west wind 
was blowing, and the black scud at times hid the face of 
the mountains, which lay cold and dark in the moonlight. 

Edward was fascinated by the scene. The broad river 
was dotted by specks of white, as the foam of the dashing 
waves sparkled and glittered like silver. Immediately in 
front of him rose the rough barrier of old “ Butter Hill,” 
and away off to the right he could trace the faint outline of 
the “ Shawangunk,” the outpost or sentry, as it were, of 
the mighty range of the Alleghanies. How insignificant 
were the petty quarrels of even nations, as compared with 
the gigantic efforts of nature ! Where was man when this 
inland sea had burst its way through these “ Everla*sting 
Mounds,” in its struggle to reach the ocean ? And what 
was his or any mortal intellect, to the “ Great Unknown,” 
who held them prisoners in the hollow of his hand. Even 
Eph.’s prosaic nature was moved. 

“ Isn’t it beautiful ! ” he said. “Just what I call ‘ pic- 
terskeu.’ Wouldn’t the old man go mad over this ’ere 
place. But this don’t get us to Newburg.” 

“ Why can’t we stay here all night, and cross comfortably 
by daylight ? ” asked Edward. 


i 82 


SIBYL SPENCER. 


“ Plain as the nose on your face, if ye’ll only think. 
When this wind goes down, the ice will form faster than a 
horse can trot. There’s an old fellow down here as has 
run this ferry twenty years and better ; he says, says he, 

‘ if your bound to get over, now’s your time.’ ’Tain’t nothing 
to me. I ain’t on duty, but I kinder think as how you’d 
like to get forrard.’ ” 

“ Of course I would. Make the best bargain you can 
Eph., I leave it all to you.” 

“ I’ve got the old man down to twenty York shillings,” 
replied Eph., “ and it kinder goes agin the grain to specu- 
late further. It’s true, I told him I’d help him with the 
oars myself, and that you were kinder light, and didn’t 
count for much. Der ye see.” 

Edward laughed as he went back into the warm room 
and began making preparations for the trip. The boat, a 
broad fishing skiff, capable of holding ten men, was drawn 
up under the lee of the low dock, over which the spray 
broke, freezing as it fell, until its timbers were incrusted 
with ice. It was with difficulty that the two men forced 
the boat through the broken fragments of ice, which wind 
and tide had cast on the shore, and for some moments it 
was doubtful if they could reach the dark water beyond. 
What Eph. lacked in nautical skill, he made up in hearty 
good-will, and the tough ash oar bent under his efforts. 
The cold was intense; although still in December, the 
winter had begun severely, and the masses of floating ice 
were so solid as to defy any attempts to break through 
them. 

“ It’s worse than I thought,” said the old fisherman, as 
he rested for a moment to dry the freezing 'spray which 


THE HUDSON. 


1S3 

dung to his grizzled beard. “ We’re hardly off the flats 
yet, and hain’t got the full force of the tide. When the 
tide’s three-quarters ebb, we always get it worse on the 
Newburg side. It stands to reason, as the water’s deep- 
er, de yer see.” 

Utterly helpless, Edward could only cower down in the 
stern and seek for warmth in the wrappings with which he 
was provided. Yet there was something inexpressibly 
magnificent in the scene. The boat was so low that the 
outline of the shore was lost in the dashing spray, and it 
appeared as if they were driving aimlessly in a waste of 
water. As he turned his eyes to the south, the amphi- 
theatre of hills rose dark and threatening in the moon- 
light, bringing into relief the granite walls, bare and naked 
a thousand feet' above the level of the tide. Every out- 
line in the mountains was distinct ; a soft haze lay in the 
valley, which, like morning mist, at intervals was swept 
away by the wind, and showed the ridges, the lower hills 
and the shadowy forms of other hills, as they rose one 
after another in endless succession. It almost seemed as 
if the Dutch legend, of the Herr of the Dunderberg, was 
about to be realized and he was asserting his supremacy 
over wind and tide. The silence, which had lasted some 
minutes, was broken by the old fisherman, who had noticed 
‘Eph.’s ’ labored breathing, as he tugged resolutely at his 
oar. 

“ There’s no use of your bursting yourself. You ain’t • 
much at a pull, although you’re mighty willing like. We’re 
in for a good two hours’ pull, anyhow.” The old man 
stopped speaking and scanned the horizon closely. 

“ It was a tempting of Providence when we started. 


184 


SIBYL SPENCER. 


But twenty York shillings ain’t to be made so easy like, 
nowadays. And I’ve got them little children to take care 
of, anyhow.” The old man spoke in a sad, low tone, so 
that his words could hardly be heard by the listeners in 
the boat, both of whom were struck, however, by the anx- 
iety displayed in his manner. 

The river at the point where they were making this 
passage is rather more than a mile in width. The strength 
of the w'ind, joined to the fact of the tide being ebb, had 
drifted the boat more than two miles down the stream, 
although not more than two thirds of the distance had 
been accomplished. The reason the fisherman had so 
closely studied the horizon was soon evident to both the 
other men. The outline of a large field of ice, which was 
rapidly drifting down on them, could now be clearly seen. 
The set of the current threw this mass, which must have 
covered several acres in extent, between them and the 
shore, and it was obvious that to pass it they must head 
due north, up the river. The wind, as is generally the 
case about the turn of the tide, had, in a great degree, 
died away, but this rather increased than diminished their 
danger, as it permitted the formation of ice which, even 
in the few minutes in which this scene had occurred, sen- 
sibly retarded the boat. 

Edward, prevented by his position in the skiff from 
any active exertion, felt his faculties becoming rapidly 
benumbed by the intense cold. Their situation was peril- 
ous in the extreme, and he was obliged, for the sake of 
momentary warmth, to have recourse to a flask of spirits. 
The old man shook his head. 

“ If you once begin you’re got to go on. But I sup- 


THE HUDSON. 1 85 

pose it can’t be helped ; you’re not accustomed to the cold 
like I is.” The words came out in jerks, for the man was 
laboring as severely as Eph., and despite the difficulties 
in their way, the boat was making rapid progress. 

The dangerous field was passed, and again the boat 
was headed obliquely for the western shore. Perfect still- 
ness was kept, only broken by the labored breathing of 
the rowers, when suddenly the fisherman leaned forward 
and violently shook Edward. He had fallen asleep, and 
to sleep now might be to wake no more. The effort 
which the young man made to struggle to his feet almost 
upset the boat. 

“ My God ! ” exclaimed Eph., “ something’s got to be 
done, or Ed. ’ll die.” 

“You’ve called on the right name young man. He’s 
the only one as can help us. Look there,” and he pointed 
to the dark outline of another ice field, which, unnoticed 
in their violent exertions, was almost on them. The tide 
had turned, but the wash of the waves still urged it for- 
ward j its vast extent placed the boat in still water ; the 
effect was almost immediately felt, the ice formed so rapidly 
that it was with extreme difficulty they reached the edge 
of the field. Further progress was impossible. Edward 
had again sunk back into the stern sheets, the stupor of 
death was slowly creeping over mind and body. 

“’Twas the drink as done it; I knowed it when I saw 
him take the damned stuff ; the Lord forgive me cursing 
in this our peril.” He searched with trembling hands as 
he spoke, for the fatal flask. 

“We must pour it down him now. It’s our only 
hope.” 


SIBYL SPENCER. 


1 86 

“ Don’t stand there a-doing nothing,” said Eph., as he 
made an attempt to spring on the ice, “ Let’s take him 
atween us. I see lights thar, perhaps we may make them 
hear us. It’s our only chance of a-saving of Ned.” 

“ Stop, stop ! ” cried the old man, clutching at the skirts 
of his coat. “ Don’t be overventuresome.” 

He took as he spoke an oar in his hand and struck the 
shaft violently against the ice. A report almost like a pis- 
tol followed, as a long crack ran up the river. 

“ ’Twill bear ye. If the stick goes through you’re sartin 
to go through, sooner or later.” 

As he was speaking Eph. had scrambled on the ice, and 
was stamping his feet, and thrashing with his arms to re- 
store circulation. 

“ Come,” he said, “ let us take him atween us. We may 
make the shore ; it’s our only chance.” 

“ No ; it can’t be did. I’m old. My babies, my poor 
babies, and Willie, their daddy, is away at the war. God’s 
will be done.” 

“ Rouse yourself, old man, rouse yourself,” said Eph., 
shaking him by the coat, for the deadly cold was creeping 
over the tough old weather-beaten fisherman. 

“ My son,” he laid his hand almost tenderly in that of 
Eph.’s, “ this here boy is gone. Leave the old and use- 
less to perish. Take an oar, and keep it across ye, ’twill 
hold ye up if ye fall in.” 

“ What ! and leave you and Ned to perish,” shouted 
Eph. “ If I do I’ll be ” 

“ Go, go,” muttered the old man. “ I must sleep, or I 
shall die.” 

The wind had entirely died away, and Eph. thought he 


THE HUDSON. 


187 


could hear the faint sound of voices on the shore. What 
should he do ? He was alone, absolutely alone. The 
bright December moon shone down clear and cold, bring- 
ing out the outlines of the mountains, which seemed to 
slumber in their shadows in perfect stillness. 

Divesting himself of his outer coat, he wrapped it ten- 
derly around Edward, and after a vain effort to force 
spirits down their throats, which the fisherman only re- 
sisted — Edward was too far sunk in stupor to feel any- 
thing — he took the flask with the muttered exclamation, 
“ ’Twon’t help them, and it may me. I suppose I must do 
it. It’s durn mean, but it’s the only thing. Thank the 
Lord ! if he goes, I goes with him.” 

He took the oar in his hand and turned towards the 
shore. Some imperceptible set of the current had caused 
the field of ice to drift in that direction, and Eph. was 
not more than a hundred yards from the land when he had 
crossed the ice. He shouted at the top of his voice, again 
and again, and to his intense joy, his cries were answered. 

The united exertions of four strong men soon brought a 
boat to the place where Edward and the fisherman lay 
slumbering. It required all the care and attention of the 
new-comers to restore sufficient circulation to enable them 
to be half led half carried into the nearest house. 

The severity of the cold only lasted a few hours, and on 
the second day, as Edward stood sunning himself on the 
bank, watching the deep, silent river, and the soft haze 
which seemed to float over every feature of the landscape, 
he had difficulty in believing the incident had not been 
some horrible nightmare. 

The rest of their journey passed without any thing 


SIBYL SPENCER. 


I 88 

worthy of note, and it was on the morning of the fourth day 
that the stage deposited them in the little village of 
Sackett’s Harbor. Edward instantly made his way to the 
head-quarters of the General, and giving his name was 
ushered into a good-sized apartment, half bedroom half 
office. A bright fire was burning, and at a table drawn 
close to its blaze sat an officer busily writing. He did not 
raise his head as Edward entered, but in a quiet tone of 
voice asked him to be seated. Edward had an opportu- 
nity to study the air and appearance of his new commander. 

General Jacob Brown was then just coming into notice. 
Taken, as was said of him, “ like Cincinnatus from the 
plough,” he seemed to possess naturally every attribute of 
a commander. Tall and powerfully built, his face, without 
being handsome, was attractive and pleasing. His eyes 
were large and dark, and when he smiled, the charm of his 
manner was irresistible. What surprised Edward most was 
the familiarity which the air and features of this officer 
seemed to have to him. Where had he met him before ? 
As he was racking his brain to find an answer, the General 
folded up the paper he had been writing, and handed it to 
a soldier in attendance, and turning to Edward, said with a 
smile, 

“ Ah, my young friend, this is not so romantic as sail- 
ing by moonlight on the Hudson.” 

It came back to him like a flash. He was the charming 
companion of his first voyage up the Hudson river. 

“ I never forget a man,” continued the General, “ and 
you struck me at once as one likely to do his duty. It did 
not need Hamilton’s repeated letters in your favor to make 
me ask for you when I was in a position to give you 


THE HUDSON. 


189 


proper employment. Go now and get thee something to 
eat. Thee must be tired. Thee has had quarters assigned 
thee in this house. In an hour more I would like to talk 
with thee.” 

Edward found his companions on the staff agreeable, 
pleasant young men, but there was what he had never seen 
before during his service as a soldier, an intense application 
to duty. Although in all respects courteous to their new 
comrade, and anxious to hear the news from the outside 
world, but a few moments could be given to conversation, 
and Edward was soon in the presence of the General. 

General Brown motioned to Edward to draw a chair 
up to the fire. 

“ Captain Mason, the chief of my staff, which you now 
are, must be my inner self — think, feel, and act as I do. 
In three words, we are expected to hold, with utterly in- 
adequate means, perhaps the most important post on this 
frontier. Our force, mostly militia, whose term of service 
will expire in a few days. A few regulars, the nucleus of 
something better, I trust. The army proper, scattered and 
dispersed to the four winds. At such a time as this, infor- 
mation is more precious than gold.” 

He paused and looked into the fire. At length he went 
on — 

“ In sheer madness, Armstrong,the secretary at war, has 
ordered an indefensible village on the Canada side to be 
burned, and hundreds of poor wretches are turned house- 
less to the mercy of a Canada winter. Of course the 
British will retaliate, and when will they strike this place } 
To-morrow morning at daylight a boat and crew will be 
ready. Somewhere among the western islands, you will 


SIBYL SPENCER. 


190 

meet with a spy. Thee has got to find him out thyself. 
I can give thee no clue. Keep your own counsel, even 
from the officer in charge of the boat. Do not run into 
needless danger, but bring me back, if thee can, the infor- 
mation I require. Good-night.” 

Mason found Eph. completely master of the situation. 
He had used his eyes and ears to good purpose. 

“You had better. Cap ” — Eph had fallen back into his 
professional manners — “ try and get what you most need 
in the village, as they say our baggage may be will be more 
than a month on the road.” 

“ Oh, I can make myself comfortable with very little. 
Now look here, Eph., I have got to set off at daylight. I 
am so tired I may oversleep myself, just see I am called, 
will you ? ” 

“Daylight, eh. Don’t see how I can get you new 
boots by that time,” then holding up as he spoke the sole 
of one for inspection, which Edward had just taken off : 
“ won’t tote you much farther, as the Southern darkeys 
say.” 

“No matter,” said Edward, “ they will do my business 
until I get back.” 

“ So,” muttered Eph., as he stretched himself in front 
of the fire, “ you’re going to ride, or maybe you’re going by 
boat. No matter, we will see in the morning.” 



CHAPTER XVII. 

THE SPY. 

“ There was a laughting devil in his sneer.” 

“The Corsair.” 

was still dark when Edward felt himself 
ather roughly shaken and heard Eph.’s voice. 

‘‘ I ain’t got no watch, but I kinder think 
;’s near daylight. I can’t make this plaguey 
fire burn nohow. You’ll have to take a dry polish this 
morning, all the water’s frozen stiff.” 

Never was a man more reluctant than Edward to turn 
out from his comfortable bed into the cold. He found 
that his faithful friend had warmed some coffee and suc- 
cessfully foraged in the house so as to procure him quite a 
passable meal of cold meat and bread. 

“ I’ve been thinking, Ed., that I won’t list yet. You can 
afford me board and lodging and I will look after your 
things like : the Lord knows they want it bad enough. 
You see it’s blamed easy to say yes any time, and not so 
easy to take the back track, when it comes to the fighting. 
I kinder think the old man down stairs’ll find me a place 
— he looks like one of them chaps.” 

As Eph. was talking, more to himself than to Edward, 
he had made up a bundle of substantial sandwiches, and 
carefully examined Edward’s pocket flask, pouring out and 
drinking quite a stiff horn. 

“ That’s real old Connecticut apple-jack. I must do 

(19O 



192 


SIBYL SPENCER. 


them democrats the justice to say, most on ’em knows good 
liquor. Now I’ll be darned if that wasn’t made by Major 
Baylies. He’s fit for nothing else. See here, Ned.” Edward 
was by this time through with his hasty breakfast and 
showed signs of moving. “ Jist you set down there and 
write me two or three lines, saying as how I am your 
help.” Eph. could not bring himself to say servant. “ I 
hain’t got no idea of seeing the inside of a guard -house if 
I knows it. So that’s all right. Yer got any money ? 
Don’t be afraid to borrow. I’ll charge it agin your estate, 
if you don’t come back. Yer needn’t look at your pis- 
tols, I loaded them myself after ye were to sleep. Good- 
by, take care yerself.” He followed Edward with his 
eyes as far down the still dark street as he was able, and 
as he mounted the stairs he muttered : “ Wish I was going 
with him. He’s rash. The old man must be a judge of 
human nature. That orderly said he never saw him take 
so to a man as he did to our Ed. Something’s up, depend 
on it. Wish I had a hand in.” 

Edward soon reached the lake, and on the long wharf, 
which extended some distance from the shore, he saw the 
dark forms of two men. One was the sentinel on guard, 
who instantly challenged. Edward had been furnished 
with the countersign, and the sentinel promptly brought 
his piece to the “carry ” as he passed by him. The other 
form, thickly muffled in a boat cloak, answered his ques- 
tion by saying, 

“A boat’s crew, under my command, are placed at the 
orders of Captain Mason ; are you he ? ” 

The voice sounded familiar, and the growing light 
showed the fine, strong, handsome figure of Sam Griswold. 


THE SPY. 


193 


“Why Sam./’ said Edward, “ what rare piece of luck 
has thrown us together ? ” warmly shaking again and again 
the hand of his old school-mate. Nothing could exceed 
the pleasure which both men felt, and as Griswold drew 
Edward towards the barge, he almost hugged him with 
delight.' There was a hea’Cy fog on the lake, and Griswold 
was soon obliged to give all his attention to the course they 
were rowing. The boat was a very large one, pulling eight 
oars on each side, being what is called double banked, i. e., 
two rowers on each bench. No word was said by either 
as to their destination, and as by degrees the fog lifted 
under the influence of the winter sun, Edward saw they 
were some distance from the shore and slowly drawing 
towards the entrance of the St. Lawrence river. The 
weather had not yet been severe enough to close the lake 
to ordinary navigation, although there were large quantities 
of floating ice. As the wind freshened Griswold set a lug- 
sail and their progress became very swift. 

The seamen, as well as Griswold himself, although heavily 
clothed, were in full uniform, and were all armed. Evi- 
dently no concealment was desired. To Edward’s inquiries 
as to their destination, Griswold could only answer, “ My 
orders are to take a Captain Mason to a certain point on 
Great Island, and then wait his orders. More than that 
I know nothing.” 

The time passed rapidly. The two young men were 
full of mutual inquiries, and it was with regret that Edward 
heard the order given to take in the lug and pull the heavy 
boat slowly towards the shore. The point which they had 
reached was heavily wooded, and as most of the trees were 
evergreen, afforded a safe and perfectly secluded anchor- 
ed 


194 


SIBYL SPENCER. 


age. As they rounded the point they came suddenly on a 
long canoe drawn up on the shore, similar to the ordinary 
boats used by the French habitats of the country. 
Griswoy immediately ordered his men to stop pulling, and 
directed half of them to take their arms, and then slowly 
allowed the barge to drift towards the little sandy beach. 
As the keel of the boat grated on the shore. Mason sprang 
out and the barge was immediately shoved off and held 
stationary a short distance from the land. 

Edward pushed his way through the fringe of low 
bushes, and after going a few feet found himself in the 
presence of three men who were sitting round a small fire 
apparently in the act of cooking their dinner. Two of the 
men were dressed in the common clothes of the Canadian 
peasant, and had a half-stupid, half-cunning look, so pecu- 
liar to their race. They were evidently only the boatmen 
in attendance on the other member of the party, who had 
the dress and bearing of a gentleman. He resolutely kept 
his head bent over the fire, and his slouched hat was drawn 
down so low that Mason was unable to distinguish his 
features. Completely in the dark as to whom he was to 
meet, or in what manner they were to recognize each other, 
Mason determined to take the initiative. 

“ Well, gentlemen,” he said, “ what sport ? ” 

Without raising his eyes, or noticing in any way his 
presence, the man answered in a bold, clear voice, which 
struck Edward as familiar, the single word “ one.” 

“ I said,” he exclaimed as Edward stood hesitatingly 
before him, and rising as he spoke, to his feet, “ one fish 
was all we had taken.” 

As a long string of fish lay extended on the snow, Ed- 


THE SPY. 


195 


ward was if possible even more puzzled at such an unne- 
cessary falsehood. The man pushed back, as he spoke, 
the brim of his hat, and Edward immediately recognized 
the disgraced gambler, his quondam host, Capt. Quincey. 
It was several minutes before either of them spoke, when 
at length Quincey broke the silence by saying — 

“ Captain Mason is again welcome to the territory of 
his Majesty. May I ask what are his intentions in thus 
intruding himself ? ” 

The man’s manner was singularly insolent and defiant, 
and Edward felt his temper rise as he answered — 

“ As the stronger party, sir, perhaps you will inform me 
what your intentions are in this lonely spot, so far from hu- 
man habitation. And why, in answer to a civil question, I 
am told such an outrageous falsehood ? ” He pointed, as 
he spoke, to the long string of fish. 

Quincey, who seemed to be laboring under intense al- 
though suppressed excitement, disregarded the inquiry and 
said — 

“ You were a party, sir, to a scene, a pre-arranged 
scene, I make no doubt, which stripped me at once of 
rank and means of subsistence, which sent me from the 
association of gentlemen, of those among whom I had been 
born and bred, to keep company with curs like these,” he 
pointed as he spoke, to the two habitats, who sat in stolid 
indifference by the fire, listening to a conversation of which 
probably they did not understand one quarter. 

“ I need hardly remind a person who possesses such 
powers of observation,” said Edward with a sneer, “ of the 
old saw, ‘He who plays with fire will get burnt.’ ” 

“ I shall not attempt to resent,” answered Quincey, with 


196 


SIBYL SPENCER. 


some dignity of manner, “ any insult, however gross, which 
Capt. Mason chooses to put upon me. No one knows better 
than I do that an hour’s weakness, folly, call it what you 
will, has raised up between us the impassable barrier which 
fjalways exists between’ the gentleman and the outcast. 
Yet,” he added bitterly, ypur friend, who found it conso- 
nant with his honor to denounce, to destroy, the poor 
wretch who, tempted by poverty, yielded to the lure the 
fiend always has ready, found that sense of honor no bar- 
rier against debauching the wife of the man whose bread 
he daily ate.” 

Edward was deeply moved. 

“ As you well know. Captain Quincey, I was a stranger, 
until that very evening. I' know no antecedent facts. 
My belief is founded on the observation of the hour. 
But on my soul, on my honor, I believe there exists no 
relation other than pure friendship, between those two 
parties.” 

In his intense interest Edward had moved a step for- 
ward, and laid his hand on the arm of the other, who 
recoiled from him as if it had been the touch of an 
adder. 

“ You are green, sir, I see, in this world’s ways. You 
know but little of the class to which your friend Harcourt 
belongs. It were too much honor to the daughter of his 
uncle’s dependant, that she should be the plaything of his 
passions.” 

“ It certainly strikes me,” said Edward, collecting him- 
self, “ that this interview, in mid-winter, on the banks of the 
St. Lawrence, should be brought to a close. Your wife’s 
honor is in your keeping. God be merciful to her. Now 


THE SPY. 197 

sir, what are you doing in this lonely place. Mark me, sir, 
no prevarication.” 

“ And who made Captain Mason a judge and ruler of 
my actions,” answered the man with a sneer. 

“Twenty armed men, within calling distance.” 

“ Ton my word, you have the best of the argument,” 
said Quincey with a laugh. “ Go back, sir, you errand 
here is done. “ Remember, sir, I have only caught one 
fish.” 

As he spoke, a loud whistle sounded from the boat, and 
Edward made his way to the shore. The boat was touch- 
ing the beach. 

“ Come on board, quickly,” said Griswold. ‘‘I see over 
those headlands the top-sail of a large schooner. Quick ! ” 

“ One second,” exclaimed Edward. 

He sprang back as he uttered the word. Quincey was 
gone, as were the two companions who were with him. Ed- 
ward made his way rapidly to the boat, which pushed off, 
the men stretching themselves with a will to the oars, 
Their progress was aided by the lug-sail which Griswold set 
as soon as they were clear of the islands, but night had 
closed in before the security of Sackett’s Harbor was 
reached. Edward was soon in the presence of the Gen- 
eral, who was evidently anxiously expecting him. 

“Well, well,” he exclaimed, as Edward entered the 
room, “ what said our faithful traitor.” 

“ Upon my honor. General, I have seen no one nor 
heard any thing except what came from a convicted cheat 
and swindler, a Captain Quincey, whose acquaintance I 
made in Quebec, while a prisoner.” 

“ So, so you know Captain Quincey, do you ? I never 


198 


SIBYL SPENCER, 


dreamed of that. Well, what did he say, the first word, 
remember now, the first word.” 

“ One.” 

General Brown sprang from his chair and opening the 
door which communicated with an adjoining room, said, 
‘‘ Captain, tell the officer of the day to double the sentries, 
and see that the most extreme watchfulness is kept during 
the night. Have me called on the slightest alarm. The 
slightest, do you understand ? ” 

The answer was lost, and the General slowly turning 
walked backwards and forwards up and down the room. 
This was the first intimation that Edward had that the 
quandom British officer was a spy of the United States. 
So strong was his astonishment that it attracted the atten- 
tion of the General, who with a laugh, said, 

“You certainly, my dear boy, did not expect we ob- 
tained our information from the respectable subjects of 
King George, did you ? ” 

“ No, certainly not. But my acquaintance with this man, 
and all the strange incidents of the two evenings that I met 
him, rushed back upon me, so that I was for the moment 
bewildered.” 

“ See,” said the general, taking from a drawer in the 
table a plan of the defences of Sackett’s Harbor. “ Our 
small force is posted here and here. Should any thing 

happen to me, the command devolves on Colonel , to 

whom you must turn it over. You have not actually en- 
tered upon your duties, and as I feel no inclination for bed, 
sit down by the fire and tell me what you know of this 
man’s history. It will while away an hour.” 

Edward narrated the scenes of that evening. The gen- 


THE SPY. 


199 


eral was much interested, particularly at his account of 
Captain Quincey’s unhappy wife, and the subsequent con- 
fession of attachment by Captain Harcourt. 

“Your friend,” he said, “must be a fine fellow, high- 
toned and honorable. The lady, perhaps, might have been 
happier had he been less so. Who knows ? There are 
some facts, however, which I am glad to learn. This man 
Quincey has been playing, as all spies do, a double part. 
He gave much information to the Eastern division last 
year, long before his card cheating was found out. He 
came about a month ago and hired a little house just out- 
side the village. I will have it examined to-morrow, at 
least if for me there is a morrow.” 

The General walked to the window and opened it, look- 
ing up at the stars as they shone out clear and bright in 
the cold winter’s sky. “ Come here. Mason. Look up 
at ‘ these patines of pure gold ’ and tell me what are they. 
Made solely for the use of man, fresh from the alchemy of 
the Creator, and set there for his benefit and pleasure only ? 
Or are they other worlds, full of other intelligences, per- 
haps of men, with passions, hopes and fears like our- 
selves ? ” 

“ Without pretending to be a teacher, General, I have 
always doubted if the Bible told us more than a fractional 
part of the great history of the universe. Has it not rather 
only lifted the veil and allowed us to see, as it were, darkly, 
God’s dealings with a portion of his creatures here on 
earth ? ” 

The General closed the window and with a slight shud- 
der drew near the fire. 

“ Why, Mason, ^ a man who has sat at the feet of the 


200 


SIBYL SPENCER. 


Gamaliel of the Congregationalists, these are strange doc- 
trines ; almost as strange,” he added with a smile, “ as to 
see a member of the Society of Friends in this garb and 
commanding an army. You would say men’s beliefs, my 
boy, sit but lightly on the majority of mankind, and 
Quaker or no Quaker, my strongest wish now is to beat a 
British army. Hark ! what was that.” 

As he spoke, the faint, distant report of a gun made 
itself heard, followed by the loud roll of several drums from 
different quarters of the town. 

General Brown calmly drew round him the heavy cloak 
which lay on a chair, and said with a smile, “ We shall 
have a good chance, Edward, to solve the great problem 
this night. Gentlemen, our posts are in the front,” and 
followed by his staff he left the room. 


) 





CHAPTER XVIII. 

THE CONFESSION. 

“ And better had they ne’er been born 
Who read to doubt or read to scorn.” 

Scott. 

HE attack on Sackett’s Harbor had been made 
under cover of a heavy fog, by a force of some 
six hundred English regulars and Canadians, 
masked and concealed by a cloud of savages. 
For a long time the result was doubtful. Several times 
the American forces, consisting mostly of militia, had been 
driven from their defences. Once a panic had seized them 
which, but for the all-prevailing presence and genius of 
General Brown, would have proved fatal. As it was, the 
English burnt a sloop of war, nearly completed, and de- 
stroyed large quantities of military stores. Stubbornly 
holding the position with the few regular troops at his com- 
mand, General Brown gathered round him by slow degrees, 
the scattered fragments of his command and step by step 
forced the British commander back to his boats. 

The loss of life, in proportion to the number of soldiers 
engaged, was enormous ; and when, late in the morning, the 
tired and worn-out troops were able to attend to the 
wounded, it was found the fruits of victory were with 
neither party. 



( 201 ) 


202 


SIBYL SPENCER. 


This had been the first serious affair in which Edward 
Mason had been engaged. General Brown was always 
chary of praise, but he expressed himself as more than 
pleased with the coolness and bravery of his young aid. 

The press of business for the next few days engrossed 
every moment and thought, and Edward forgot, until it 
was recalled to him by an accident, that the spy Quincey 
had a house on the outskirts of the town. Edward was 
sent one evening by the General to examine the con- 
dition of some wounded prisoners whom the imperfect 
hospital accommodations had compelled the authorities to 
quarter in the houses of the citizens. It was a Sunday^ 
and as Edward was slowly walking by a little meeting 
house,” his attention was called to the soft, low hymn, 
which was being sung. He had forgotten the day. There 
is no Sunday in the army. Unconsciously to himself he 
drew closer to the door, listened, and finally opened it and 
entered. There were very few persons in the room, and 
the majority of them were women. Their sad faces showed 
it might well be called the “ house of prayer.” The 
minister, a very young man, spoke feelingly of the bitter 
sorrow and desolation which the passions of men had 
brought on the little quiet village. His remarks did not 
occupy more than a minute or two, and after a brief but 
heartfelt prayer, his congregation was dismissed. As Ed- 
ward passed from the building he found himself brought in 
contact with a woman dressed in deep black and covered 
from head to foot with a heavy veil. He was passing on 
after a careless glance, when she touched his arm, and in- 
dicated a desire to speak with him. Following her to 
one side, under the light of a small oil lamp which feebly lit 


THE CONFESSION. 


203 


up the darkness of the chapel, she raised her veil, and it 
was with a start he recognized Mrs. Quincey. Her eyes 
were red with weeping, and her cheeks deadly pale. The 
sad, almost fearful, glance she threw on Mason touched his 
heart. It was with deep feeling he extended his hand. 

“ My dear Mrs. Quincey, what can I do for you ? ” 

The poor woman broke down at once. “ I am alone 
here, Mr. Mason, captain, I should have said. Alone, with 
not a friend. Stop, I do not want your charity. Of money 
I have more than enough. But I want some one person, 
to whom I can speak, who can feel for, pity, and protect 
me.” 

He was about speaking when she motioned him to be 
silent. 

“ I had to pour out my heart to God. I have no 
friend save Him. Weak, sinful as I am, surely, surely He 
will not turn his face from me. If you have a few minutes of 
leisure will you come and see me. I must have some one 
to talk to. Not secretly, although I am under a feigned 
name. You know where my house is. Close by the 
brook. Ask for Mrs. Stillwell. Pardon my having de- 
tained you.” She drew the veil over her face and passed 
out into the deserted street. 

When Edward reached head-quarters he took the first 
opportunity of narrating the incident to General Brown. 

“ Take care, my boy,” said the General laughing. “ Pity 
is a dangerous sentiment between two people of the op- 
posite sex not twenty-six years old. Go see her as much 
as you choose, but remember, there are spies on the Eng- 
lish side as well as on ours. This man’s life, her husband 


204 


SIBYL SPENCER. 


you say he is, hangs on a hair. Do not be the means of 
bringing him to justice.” 

Some few moments afterwards, as Edward was about 
leaving the office, the General called him back. “ Mason, 
Arthur Hamilton told me you were engaged to marry a 
charming gir] in your native town. Was he right ? ” 

“ I am happy to say, General, he was.” 

“ So. From something the old fellow let drop, I 
thought he rather envied you the lady : am I correct ? 
There, there, don’t scowl. You do not know Hamilton. 
There is a great big nobleness about that man which pre- 
cludes jealousy. I have watched you closely, my boy, and 
have seen at the mention of his name a flash I did not 
like. The biggest hearts, Edward, are those which have 
the fewest small feelings. Good-night.” 

Mason took the first opportunity to pay his visit to Mrs. 
Quincey. She kept him waiting but a few moments. She 
was dressed in black, and her dark hair, drawn back from 
her face, showed its clear classic beauty to advantage. 
Mrs. Quincey made no effort to shake hands with her 
visitor, but motioning him to a chair, began the conversa- 
tion abruptly. 

“ Few women in my situation. Captain Mason, but 
would have shrunk from again meeting the witness of their 
shame. But I am denied the luxury of retirement, . 1 had 
almost said of every womanly feeling.” 

“ Pray, my dear Mrs. Quincey, do not judge so harsh- 
ly. 1 was, as you know, involuntarily a witness of that 
painful scene. But, on my honor as a man, I hold you 
guiltless of the crime imputed. Captain — ” 

“ Stop ! do not name him here,” said the other. “ I 


THE CONFESSION. 


205 


have sought this interview to obtain the means of escape 
from him. I must place the impassable barrier of con 
tending nations between us. For well does my woman’s 
heart tell me, if we meet again, I am ruined and he is un- 
done.” 

The wretched woman covered her face with her hands 

V * 

and sobbed audibly. 

“ I am placed in the most embarrassing situation,” said 
Edward, walking up and down the room. “ I have met 
your husband once since that evening. That is to say, I 
saw him. We met under circumstances — in short — what 
shall I call him ? ” 

“ Do not hesitate,” said Mrs. Quincey. “ Add to 
gambler, blackleg, traitor, the one word spy, and fill up 
the measure of his ignominy. Captain Mason, on your 
honor as a soldier — no, by a stronger title, as a man, I 
throw myself on your pity. Find me a refuge. You hesi- 
tate. Can it be ? Does your nation war on women ? 
You shake your head. Then you believe me the vile thing 
that man called me.” 

“ No, no,” exclaimed Mason, passionately. 

Mrs. Quincey did not seem to hear him, she had walked 
to the window and was resting her face against the glass. 
Suddenly she turned. 

“ Mr. Mason, hear my story.” There was a dignity, a 
pathos in her manner which carried conviction with it. “ I 
am the daughter of an English clergyman. From my child- 
hood I was the playmate of Captain Harcourt. I never 
knew the time when I did not love him. He was then a 
younger son, and as such, it mattered little whom he 
loved or whom he married. The death of his brother 


206 


SIBYL SPENCER. 


made him the heir of one of the proudest titles in Eng- 
land. Then from that moment, to love the poor portion- 
less clergyman’s daughter became a crime. We parted ; 
when I again heard of him he was in Spain. I will not 
weary you by narrating what arts, what force even were 
used to make me accept the hand of Mr. Quincey. I be- 
lieve he loved me. But what he sought was my dower, 
the price he was to receive for my bought hand. A cap- 
tain’s commission and a sum in ready money, which was 
the only means he had of rescuing himself then froni dis- 
honor. Mr. Mason, you will never know the great gulf 
w'hich divides the noble from the commoner in England. 
Trained from infancy to subserviency, they kiss the foot 
which treads on their necks. To have pleased that 
haughty old man, my father would have sold his soul. 
What was a daughter’s happiness ? ” 

She trembled so violently that Edward took her hand 
and gently led her to a seat. 

“ Pray be calm, my dear madam ; why so unneces- 
sarily grieve yourself by entering into these details ? ” 

“ They are not unnecessary, Mr. Mason ; you must 
find me a refuge or I must seek one for myself in the 
grave. And you must understand the character of the 
woman who asks this favor of you. For years we have 
wandered from one military station to another, living as 
adventurers live. Shunned, yet courted. Pray to God, 
Mr. Mason, no sister of yours is made to play the part of 
a decoy. Dressing herself at one time in meretricious 
taste to lure some sated voluptuary, or to bewilder the 
fancy of some half-grown boy. You ask me how I en- 
dured all this ? I had a child. Oh, the agony and shame 


THE CONFESSION. 


207 


with which I have leaned over that cradle ! While she 
lived, I bore every thing. No man can fathom the depth, 
the fulness of a mother’s love. To keep that child what 
have I not suffered ! If I hesitated, if for one moment I 
even dared to look disobedience — there was my child. 
The laws, the boasted laws of England, give to a father, 
not a mother, the care of a helpless infant. Blows, in- 
sults, revilings, all were as nothing, so I kept that child. 
You start. To you a woman is sacred. Ha, ha! I have 
been beaten ‘ with many stripes.’ ” 

“ In the name of Heaven ! ” cried Edward, ‘‘why did 
you not appeal to your friends ? Put yourself under the 
protection of your family ? ” 

“ My family, my friends, I had none. As long as my 
child lived it was nothing. But when she died — ” 

There was a pause — at last she looked up. 

“ We were in Malta. Captain Quince}^ had changed 
from one regiment to another, until it were weariness to 
follow us. How well I remember that night. We were 
quartered in the town. The soft southern moon shone 
down on the almost waveless sea ; my husband had a card 
party. He was deeply in debt, and from this party he 
hoped to win enough to rescue him. I hate him, I loathe 
him.” The expression of her face became almost fiend- 
ish. She added — 

“ Let me do him justice. He loved his child. I held 
the poor little wasted thing in my arms. Each breath 
threatened to be the last. He came in, I can remember 
the very tones of his voice. Oh, my God ! had he taken 
me at that moment in his arms, I could have forgiven all, 
I could have lo\'ed him. Accident brought us to Quebec, 


2o8 


SIBYL SPENCER. 


and there I met Harcourt. As I hope for mercy, I have 
never met him alone. But oh, how the old feelings rushed 
back on me ! Human love is not the growth of human 
will. Save me. Captain Mason, save me from myself ! ” 

“ I will do every thing in my power, my dear lady,” 
answered Edward ; “but to do so, I must ask some ques- 
tions. What are your means of support ? Are you obliged 
to labor for your own livelihood ? ” 

“ I have a little money. Captain Mason, sufficient, with 
economy, to support me for a short time. But I must find 
something to do. I am well educated, I am a thorough 
musician. I will do any thing, be any thing, which is hon- 
orable. But it must be in some place of which my hus- 
band knows nothing. Somewhere where I shall be for- 
gotten.” And she added, as her hands fell into her lap, 
and her head sank forward, “ where I shall forget.” 

“ Mrs. Quincey, there is one place, my old home in 
Connecticut, in which I feel sure I can promise you safety 
and protection. It is a quiet little country village, but to 
me a very dear one, as it contains the woman I love and 
am to marry.” 

“You do trust me, then,” she said, interrupting him, 
taking one of his hands in both hers and before he could 
prevent it, raising it to her lips. “You do believe me 
w^hen 1 say I am pure ? You do not think me the vile 
thing that fiend called me ? ” 

“ On my soul, I do not,” said Edward. “ It will take 
some time to have an answer to a letter, at this season. 
And now, where is your husband ? ” 

“ I do not know. He came the night of that fearful 
combat. Staid with me all the next day and then without 


THE CONFESSION. 


209 


a word disappeared. He may return at any moment.” 
She shuddered as she uttered these last words, and glanced 
timidly round as if she expected to see him walk into the 
room. 

“ I am myself, as you well know, a close prisoner by my 
duties, Mrs. Quincey, and I dread your taking this long 
journey alone at this season.” 

“ Oh, do not mind me for a moment. I am strong, and 
to bT§' in?» safety, I would march up to one of your bat- 
teries.” 

‘‘How do you live here?” asked Mason, “have you a 
safeguard ? I will speak to the General.” 

“ Mr. Quincey gave me a paper, the day he first 
brought me here. I have never looked at it, but he said 
it was something of that sort. I will get it.” She rose as 
she said this, but Mason detained her. 

“ It is a matter of no consequence. I will see to your 
safety. But, Mrs. Quincey, we must meet very seldom. 
This town is full of English spies, speaking the same 
language, it is impossible to prevent it. Although I 
despise your husband, I would not willingly doom him to 
death.” 

“ Oh, no, no, not his blood,” said the woman clasping 
her hands ; “ I would not have on my head the blood of the 
father of my child.” Edward ' rose, and as he moved to- 
wards the door, he said : 

“ Sleep quietly, Mrs. Quincey, I will make every prepar- 
ation for your departure. Ere many days you shall have 
put the ‘ barrier of contending nations,' as you poetically 
expressed it, between you and danger.” He smiled as he 
spoke. She had risen, and holding out both hands, said, 

14 


210 


SIBYL SPENCER. 


a smile for the first time dimpling her cheeks, and making 
her look radiantly beautiful — 

“ God bless you ! Captain Mason. And He will bless 
you. You have saved a soul ! 



CHAPTER XIX. 

WAVERING. 


“ Time was 

I had been prone to counsel such as yours ; 

Adventurous I have been, it is true, 

And this foolhardy heart would brave — nay court, 

In other days an enterprise of passion.” 

Van Artevelde. 

HERE was in Lucy Quincey’s very attitude, as she 
sat by the window of the little parlor, a degree 
of languor which, to a close observer, would 
have told the irresolution of her character. 
Bright, gay and sparkling in manner, she was the very child 
of pleasure. All her earlier life had been spent in the soft 
retirement of an English home. Petted and spoiled, she 
grew up unacquainted with any of the ruder scenes of 
life, which strengthen while they pain. She had yielded to 
the pressure of her family, as she had told Mason in the 
brief story of her life, and accepted as her husband a man 
whom she neither loved nor respected. In her heart 
she always remained true to her earlier love, the love of 
her life. Separated by her husband’s vices from the 

(2II) 



212 


SIBYL SPENCER. 


society of those of her sex whom she could respect, she 
had been thrown back as it were upon herself, until, weary 
and broken-spirited, she longed for rest, even if it were 
the rest of the grave. As she sat by the window in the 
fading light of that February day, the work which had 
been the excuse falling unheeded in her lap, her eyes 
dreamily fixed on the western sky, her fancy brought 
back her far away distant home. The soft green meadow 
gently sloping to the little brook ; the quaint old church 
with its ivy-covered porch ; the old rectory, round which 
the cawing rooks held holiday; the old yew-tree, the 
childish trysting-place of a love which had never died — 
all changed, all gone, alone in a foreign land. No heart 
to love her, no hand stretched forth to aid her weak, 
wandering steps. She who had never been able to form 
the simplest resolution unaided, was it to be wondered 
at if the lip quivered, the eye grew moist, the cheek paled, 
until at length “ tears dispelled the drearh ! ” 

There was a bold, resolute step in the passage way, the 
lock on the door turned, and with a quivering start the girl 
— for she was yet but a child in character — awoke. Could 
it be her husband. She trembled at the thought. She 
hardly dared to glance at the form which stood there, 
dimly shadowed in the twilight. Who could it be — some 
phantom of the past, which memory had evoked ! Her 
very heart for the moment stood still. Then how the 
blood rushed tumultuously, through every throbbing vein, 
at the one word — 

“ Lucy ! 

The man whom she most dreaded, and yet most longed 
to see — to escape the bare accident of whose presence 


WAVERING. 


213 


she was preparing to fly, she knew not, cared not whither, 
stood before her. His name broke involuntarily from her 
lips, as holding out both hands she said ; 

“ Charles ! She caught back her hands instantly. ‘‘ Oh 
why — why are you here, here and in disguise ?” 

Harcourt, for it was he, looked at her for a moment as 
if stupefied. He had possessed himself of the hands she 
had held out, and there was more of temper than of love 
for the moment in the tone with which he said : 

“ After the letter you wrote, I should hardly have 
expected you would have asked me this question.” 

“ Letter — what letter ! I never wrote you any.” 

Poor Lucy’s hands had grown cold as she spoke, and 
she trembled so she could hardly move. 

“ There must be some fearful mistake here,” she went 
on to say ; “ how and when did you get any letter ? answer 
me, for God’s sake! or I shall go mad.” 

“ Nothing more simple,” said Harcourt, drawing from 
his pocket a letter, which he extended to her. “ A French 
‘ habitat ’ brought that to me at Montreal, where we are 
now stationed. He said you gave him ten guineas to place 
it in my hands.” 

The woman looked at it with bursting eyes. 

“ I — I never wrote it, I never saw it before — what does 
it mean ! ” 

Harcourt walked towards the Are, a cold stern expression 
grew over his face as he turned his back to the blaze, and 
said slowly — 

“ Then I am not expected, nor, as it appears, welcome. 
That letter appoints this day, this very hour — calls upon 
me by the memory of former days — by my early love, by 


214 


SIBYL SPENCER. 


our childish faith and trust, to meet you and to rescue 
you. Lucy, I am here.” 

Mrs. Quincey had struggled to her feet, she was as 
weak and tottering as an infant. She feebly attempted to 
light a candle. Harcourt took it from her hands and lit it. 
Not a muscle moved. There was no quivering of the nerves 
there — he was calm, and cold, and still. She held the letter 
to the light; her hand shook so that she could not read it. 
It was several moments before she could recover her com- 
posure sufficiently to take in the meaning of the words. 

“ This is not my handwriting — it is a forgery. It is my 
husband’s.” The paper fell from her hands, and the two 
looked blankly into each other’s faces. At length she 
said : 

“ Fly ! fly at once. In mercy to me, save yourself.” 

“Not without you, Lucy,” he said slowly, again taking 
the hands she helplessly held out. “ If by that scoundrel’s 
actions I have been brought here, you shall no longer be 
left in his power. If safety can be found, you shall share it.” 

“ Think not of me,” she answered ; “ I have found an 
asylum far, far away. In a few short days I shall be 
safe, where he can never find me, and where I shall be 
alone. Alone, if the broken-hearted can ever be alone 
while memory holds.” 

“ Lucy ” — his voice grew very soft as he spoke, and he 
drew her closely to him — “ Lucy, there is no one in the 
whole world, dear child, to whom you can cling except to me. 
You will have neither part nor heritage with strangers. 
From our childish days we have been all in all to each 
other. I can make you safe. I can place you where no 
harm can touch you. Come, Lucy, come with me.” 


WAVERING. 


215 


The poor woman raised her eyes, heavy with tears, to 
his. She drew closer to him, — she clasped the hands which 
held hers. 

“ Charles, don’t you know — has not your heart told you 
— that what I fly from is you. Yes, from you. I bore it all 
Charles — the insult, the neglect, the very blows. I could 
have borne it always, had my child lived. But when you 
came — when you brought back to me the past ; when I felt 
what might have been, but oh, God ! could never be — ” 

“ But, Lucy,” he broke in, passing his arm round her, 
“ what makes you say such words. Have I ever done 
any thing which merited such a reproach ? Have my 
manners, my language, my actions, been any thing but what 
they should have been, to the pet, the plaything, the love 
of my youth, now the wife of another ? ” 

“ It was that very soft, gentle kindness, dear,” she an- 
swered, endeavoring, but ineffectually, to draw herself away 
from his arms, “ which made me fear. I could feel your hand 
tremble when it touched mine. I could see you watching me 
when you thought I did not see. I know my own weakness.” 

“ Darling, my own pet, my love ! ” his voice seemed 
strange to him, as he interrupted her. He bent his head 
until his lips almost touched her ear — “ What right has 
this man over your life ? He has outraged every feeling of 
your nature ; he has torn you from friends and country ; 
he has linked with his own criminal naturd — ” 

“ Hush ! in mercy hush,” she said. 

“ I will not hush ! ” he exclaimed with a burst of passion, 
which swept away every artificial barrier. “ In the sight of 
God this man is not your husband. You are mine — you 
belong to me. If a vow forced from you by lies, and terror 


2I6 


SIBYL SPENCER. 


and fraud, counts for any thing, what are the hundreds you 
made me, freely in the sight of that very God and his 
recording angels.’^ 

“ You are mad,’’ she said, bursting from him — “ mad, 
and I was right to fly from you as from the plague. Hear 
me.” 

“ I will not hear you,” Harcourt said, advancing towards 
her as she drew back at his approach — “ cold reason shall 
not find utterance when only the heart should speak. I 
ask you again what is this man to you that you fly from him 
and yet shun me.” 

‘‘ He is my husband,” Lucy said very slowly. “ Charles, 
you must hear me, I beg, I implore you. Even in my igno- 
rance I know, that found wdthin these military lines, in 
that dress, at this time, an ignominimous death is certain. 
As yet, you are unknown, unseen, undiscovered. Fly, fly 
and forget poor Lucy Quincey.” 

“ I will not go,” he said slowly and distinctly, “ with- 
out you. You need not beg nor implore. I will not die a 
felon’s death, but I will die by my own hand, rather than 
endure the long agony of knowing that you belong to 
another. This is no idle threat, Lucy, made by a love-sick 
school-boy. In some way or another I have been brought 
here — I seek not to discover how. God’s finger is in it, 
my fate is in your hands. Come with me or — ” 

She did not wait for him to conclude the sentence. She 
took her hands from before her face. Her manner and 
air showed more of resolution than it had ever shown 
before. 

“ Charles, my whole heart is yours. I do not doubt 
your love now, more than I doubt my own. You shall your- 


WAVERING. 


217 


self decide my fate — our fate. Through these long, bitter 
years, the wife — my tongue blisters to say it — the partici- 
pator, I had almost said the accomplice, of a cheat and 
sharper, surrounded by women to whom the very name of 
virtue was unknown, I preserved mine. Will you not shun, 
will you not despise, can you love the woman who gives 
you all. If you can, oh read well your heart, take her, for I 
can resist no longer.” 

Harcourt sprang forward to grasp the hands she held 
out, when a slight rustle in the room made them both start 
and turn. 

Slowly divesting himself of his coverings and throwing 
them on the table, the spy Quincey, her husband, stood 
before them. 

“ When I was a liveried servant of King George, I 
thought it too much honor to have my humble home visited 
by the Hon. Charles Harcourt ; and now that I am an out- 
cast and a fugitive, a spy — oh, how the noble gentleman must 
feel his very flesh creep at being in the same room with a 
spy, — how can I find words to express the feelings of my 
heart ! ” 

Harcourt, dauntless as he was, felt his heart stand still 
at the sneering malignity with which these words were 
uttered. Lucy, trembling in every limb, without the power 
of utterance, sank powerless into a chair. Manning him- 
self by a desperate effort, Harcourt faced the man. An 
observer, ignorant of the preceding scene, would hardly have 
known that any thing exciting had taken place, so calm 
and passionless became his manner. True to man’s in- 
stincts, with the danger came the courage. 

“ If I am here,” Harcourt said slowly and with the 


2i8 


SIBYL SPENCER. 


slight drawl which was with him almost second nature, 
“ you have nobody to thank for it but yourself. That 
letter there is your handiwork, and I am at your mercy.” 

“ My handiwork,” said the other with a sneering laugh. 
“ 1 only baited the hook, and the simple gudgeon swallowed 
the bait, hook and all.” 

“ Mr. Quincey, between us as men, there is no excuse 
which can pass current. I weighed the risk before I took 
the step. That woman there, 5 ''Our wife, was from childhood 
my idol. She was pledged to me. You have neglected, 
you have outraged, you have beaten, that wretched creature 
whom you never loved.” 

“ You lie ! ” thundered rather than spoke Quincey. 
“ From the first moment I saw her I loved her with as 
mad a love as yours. I was poor, necessitous, but all 
your uncle’s boasted wealth would not have tempted me 
to do what I did, had I not loved her. I thought, what 
heart does not think, but that patient love would win love 
in return.” 

Harcourt burst into a sneering laugh as he said : 
“You showed your love. A man usually crushes in his 
grasp the fragile vase he values.” 

The man did not hear him. In his excitement he 
almost foamed at the mouth. He tore open his cravat and 
actually gasped for air. 

“ Love her ! I would have sold my soul for a smile. I 
had not been married an hour, before I found she loathed 
me. She talked and muttered in her sleep, and always 
your name. She would stretch out her arms, as if to clasp 
you to her, and I did not stab her. If my hand but 
touched her, she shrank from me, as if I were a leper. In 


WAVERING. 


219 


my mad endeavor to win her heart, I squandered the gold 
I had received in surrounding her with a luxury which was 
not mine to give. All, all was vain — she loved only you. 
Step by step I sank until in a mad hour I cheated at cards. 
You — you, the favored lover — you, the man I hate, who has 
thwarted me at every turn j who disgraced me before that 
Yankee officer and my own wife, you stand here now in 
my power. Ha ! Ha ! ” and the wretched creature laughed 
as does some maniac. 

Lucy Quincey had sat like one frozen in her seat. She 
had heard the loud voice, she saw the savage, the distorted 
features of her husband as he poured out the story of 
his woes and his strange love. She had but one thought, 
one idea. Harcourt was in danger. He must be saved. 
Feebly she dragged herself forward until she reached her 
husband’s feet and sought to clasp his knees. 

“ Pity, mercy,” she said feebly, as a child would speak. 
“ Let him go. I will be your slave, your bond-woman. I 
will love you if you will only let him go.” 

Quincey seized her hands and forced her rudely back. 

“ Let him go ! Outside this house there stands a guard. 
I have denounced him to this General Brown. To this 
smiling Quaker, who thinks no more of blood than does a 
tiger. I have but to raise this hand, and to-morrow morn- 
ing there — outside this town — there stands a gibbet.” 

“ Oh no ! you cannot, you will not,” cried the wretched 
woman, dragging herself loose, only to again clasp him 
round the knees. “ He has done you no harm. I de- 
ceived him, I betrayed him. I was pledged to him when I 
married you. Let him go, and kill me if you will.” 

“ I stood,” said Quincey, his voice becoming very low 


220 


SIBYL SPENCER. 


and still, “ outside that door since first he entered this 
room. I heard him beg you to fly with him. I heard him 
say that you were his in the sight of God. I saw your faint 
resistance, which lasted for a moment. You placed your 
fate in his hands, and he took you to his heart. Did he 
have mercy on me } ” 

Harcourt made a step forward and was about to speak, 
when Quincey raised his hand. 

“ Now listen. I am the outcast, he the gentleman. You 
placed your fate in his hands, I do the same. Let him tell 
to that same Yankee officer, he who now commands this 
party, that he came here to make you his mistress and you 
consented. Let him tell it, I say, before you, and by the 
God of Heaven he goes free ! Speak ; her fate is in your 
hands. You sought to make her a harlot: proclaim her so 
before the world.” 

“ Wretch ! brutal wretch ! ” said Harcourt, springing for- 
ward, “ how dare you make such an offer to me ? ” 

“ Pause, reflect,” said the other. “ The last of the noble 
race of Harcourt dying on the gibbet, like a dog. She is 
only a woman. She consented to do as you wished. Only 
a woman.” He had drawn from his pocket as he spoke a 
small whistle, and held it in his hand. 

“ Do what you please,” said Harcourt, drawing back, 
and resting one arm on the mantel-piece, “no word of mine 
shall stain her fair fame.” 

He blew the whistle, and in a moment the room was 
full of soldiers. 


CHAPTER XX. 


THE REVENGE. 

“ Nay, start not, ’tis of one abhorr’d.” 

Byron. 

EVERAL days had elapsed since Edward Mason 
had had his interview with Mrs. Quincey, dur- 
ing which time he had wrung a reluctant con- 
sent from the General that she should be al- 
lowed to proceed to D . Despising, as General Brown 

did, the treacherous scoundrel who was her husband, he 
was yet the most valuable spy in the employ of the United 
States. How he obtained his information, or how he suc- 
ceeded in conveying intelligence was a mystery which the 
General did not seek to unravel. Love of gold tempted 
him, perhaps love of gold might retain him. It was not in 
human nature, however, and less in that of a high-spirited 
soldier, to refuse protection and assistance to a woman, and 
that woman young and beautiful. 

Edward had determined that he would confide to Eph. 
the care of Mrs. Quincey, which in the disturbed nature of 
the country was absolutely necessary. He had expected 
some little reluctance from the young man, but not the al- 
most dogged obstinacy with which he met the proposal. 
As was usual with Eph., this reluctance showed itself in a 
series of questions, shrewd, clear, and most difficult to 
answer. 

( 221 ) 



222 


SIBYL SPENCER. 


Eph. was not a servant. He had returned to the army 
more on account of his love for Edward than any other 
reason, and remained attached to his person from the same 
feeling; but now he had other plans. His keen Yankee 
wdt showed him the pecuniary advantages to be drawn from 
trading with the soldiers, and he was negotiating for the 
post of sutler at head-quarters, a position which Edward’s 
influence with the General made reasonably certain. 

“ Who’s Mrs. Quincey ? ” he asked, after hearing Ed- 
ward’s request rather than command. “ From down East, 
Boston way ? ” 

“ No ; she is a lady,” answered Edward, “ whose hus- 
band is absent, and in whom I take great interest.” 

“ Know her folks ? ” 

“ Well, no. I know her husband, very slightly.” 

“Friends of the General?” pursued his imperturbable 
follower. 

“ No ; but the General is anxious she should be cared 
for and removed.” 

“ Why don’t he send one of his orderlies. He’s got 
half-a-dozen hanging round doing nothing.” 

“There are reasons,” answered Edward, “ why he does 
not want to be mixed up in this affair at all.” 

“ Hain’t got a clean record. It strikes me, Ed., you 
ain’t acting square to the old folks to home, are ye, to say 
nothing of Sibyl.” 

“ What do you mean ? ” said Edward, turning angrily 
towards him. “ Do you think I would allow any one 
whose character I thought could be impeached, to enter 
that house ? ” 

“ Should think not,” replied Eph., without altering a 


THE REVENGE. 


223 


muscle of his face. “ Kinder think, Ed., if I was you, I’d 
leave man and wife to settle their own quarrels. Sure to 
get yer fingers burnt.” 

“ What makes you think I am interfering between hus- 
band and wife ? ” asked Edward, unable to resist a smile at 
the acuteness of the remark. 

“ Plain as preaching,” said Eph. “ Think I know ’em 
both. She’s a tall, black-eyed, black-haired woman, lives 
down by the mill. She was to meeting last Sabbath. Sings 
like an angel. You see, Ned, I’ve been thinking of 
buying out this here sutler, here. He had the lake fever 
last fall. , Thought he was going to die. When you think 
of buying, ye had better know something of the value of 
the article. So I have dropped in there at his place of an 
evening, smoked a pipe and had a glass of rum, and kept 
my eyes open.” 

“ You have told me of this before, and I asked the Gen- 
eral if he would give you the post if you could make a bar- 
gain, as you wished me to.” 

“ Did you now',” said Eph., interrupting Edward. “ That 
was kind and neighbor-like. Now let me tell my story in 
my own way, or I must shut up.” 

“ Well, well,” said Edward, “ go on. You are as long 
as the moral law ! ” 

“ Two or maybe three times,” continued Eph., “ there’s 
come to that store a small black-eyed, hawked nosed man, 
looks like a Jew. He don’t belong to the army, though he 
pretends he’s got business here. T’other night, when the 
provost guard was a-going round a-picking up stragglers, 
they sot down on him. He pulled out a pass, signed by 
the General himself. I couldn’t see the name, but I mis- 


224 


SIBYL SPENCER. 


doubted the fellow. So when he left, I jist lounged along 
after him. He went down by the mill and stood, a-hang- 
ing round there half an hour or so, but he didn’t go in. 
Bet you a drink that’s Quincey, or whatever his name is.” 

There was a great deal in this to worry Edward. He 
knew that no communication had passed between the spy 
and General Brown. This might be easily accounted for 
by the absence of any important news. But why had 
Quincey not seen his wife ? -why did he haunt her abode, 
and yet shun her actual presence. 

“ Come, Eph., I will take it as a great favor if you will 
see to this lady as far as Albany. You shall not lose any 
thing by it. I can keep the sutler’s post for you as you 
know.” 

“ I’d do ’most any thing, Ed., to please you. But I tell 
you plainly it is agin the grain. Now see, you jist write 
all you know about this affair to Sibyl. It will do you no 
harm, I can tell you.” 

“ What difference will it make to Sibyl, you donkey. 
Mrs. Quincey will tell her own story. You don’t think 
Sibyl will believe I am in love with this woman, do you ? ” 

“ You jist do it now, I tell you. The old woman is a- 
nagging of Sibyl, don’t mean nothing, but she does, 
and old men are mighty parsevering. They ain’t got such 
a long time to spend sparking as we have.” 

Edward did not reply. He moved uneasily in his seat, 
and then abruptly left the room. When Mason entered 
the General’s office he found him standing with his back 
to the fire, and evidently in no very amiable mood. 

‘‘ Captain Mason, have you seen this letter,” he tossed 
an open letter on the table before him as he spoke. Ed- 


THE REVENGE. 


225 


ward took it up. It was written in an unknown hand, and 
was without any signature, and stated if a guard was sent 
at eight o’clock that night to a place indicated, an English 
spy could be captured, having valuable papers on his per- 
son. Great secrecy must be kept, and the guard must be 
prepared for a desperate resistance. The place indicated 
was but a short distance from the house occupied by Mrs. 
Quincey. Sackett’s Harbor was, with the exception of 
some trifling field-works, perfectly undefended on the land- 
side, and the sparse nature of the settlement, and the 
proximity of the surrounding woods, made any attempt to 
control the entrance or exit of a single individual extremely 
difficult. 

“ Thee need not look so worried,” said the General half 
laughing ; “ I make no doubt it is the work of our friend 
Quincey. The English would not be half the soldiers I take 
them for if, by this time, they did not know just how many 
men we have and all about us. Still it may be as well to 
send the guard.” 

“ May I not go in person. General ? I have my rea- 
sons,” and he briefly related his man Eph.’s having dis- 
covered the appearance of Quincey. 

“ Ah, the cunning dog! ” said the General. “ He draws 
pay from both sides, does he ? Let him look to himself, or 
I will make his wife happy in making her a widow. Does 
thee know any one who would console her, Edward ? ” 

Upon my soul. General, I believe her all that is good 
and pure and unfortunate.” 

“ Tut, man ! Thee has heard the French proverb, ‘ C’est 
I’occasion qui fait le voleur.’ What time is it, seven o’clock ? 
Send for two files and a sergeant. Let him command the 

IS 


226 


SIBYL SPENCER. 


party and do thee only look on, unless it becomes necessary 
to act.” 

Edward was about starting to obey the orders, which 
had been given in a quick, sharp tone, entirely different to 
the usual gentle, soft voice used by General Brown in his 
intercourse with his favorite, when the General said : 

“ Take this man, this Eph., as you call him, with thee, 
and let him see if he recognizes the guide whom you hope 
to meet. Don’t get thyself shot, my boy. A man at bay 
is a desperate animal.” 

Edward had hadly time to call Eph. when the guard he 
had sent for was ready on the street. Taking his sword 
under his arm the young officer ordered the sergeant in 
command to march his squad to the place indicated in the 
letter, and there to receive such orders as might be neces- 
sary. The night was clear and piercingly cold. A sharp 
north-west wind swept down the frozen surface of the lake, 
bringing with it the chill of the arctic zone. The men 
marched rapidly, so rapidly in fact as to make conversation 
with Eph. difficult, and all that Edward could do was 
briefly to explain the object of their mission. There was 
something in the boy’s manner which astonished Edward. 
It might be, however, only his true Yankee phlegm. He 
was not in the slightest degree surprised at the errand they 
were on. It was useless to question, only monosyllables 
were returned in answer. The men had halted at the 
point mentioned, and stood stamping their feet and slap- 
ping their hands to keep them from freezing. Edward, 
warmly wrapped up, had drawn within the shadow of a 
building, followed by the silent but expectant Eph. Some 
few minutes elapsed when a dark figure stole softly towards 


THE REVENGE. 


227 


the watchful sergeant of the guard, and a low whispered 
conversation took place between them. Edward turned to 
point out this figure to his companion, when to his sur- 
prise, he was gone. Noiselessly as a shadow, he had crept 
from Edward’s side, and was lost in the shade of the sur- 
rounding buildings. The conversation between the ser- 
geant and the new-comer was conducted in so low a tone 
that not a sound reached Edward’s ear. Before he had 
recovered from the surprise caused by Eph.’s disappear- 
ance, the guard had again started. This time the men 
marched as silently as possible, and as Edward had sur- 
mised, halted in front of the little house inhabited by Mrs. 
Quincey. The stranger again held a whispered conversa- 
tion with the sergeant, and then crept up the steps of the 
house, the door opened and shut noiselessly, and he was 
gone. When Edward reached the sergeant the astonished 
soldier looked blankly in his face. 

“ What did that man tell you,” said Edward. “ Come, 
sir, be brief.” 

“ To wait here until I heard a whistle. Then to rush 
in and seize or bayonet on the slightest resistance whoever 
I saw.” 

“ Do no such thing,” said Edward, authoritatively. 
“ Make prisoner, but offer no violence except as the last 
resort. Do you understand me, the last resort. You take 
your orders from me, I am responsible, not you, sir.” 

The sergeant answered respectfully and gave the ne- 
cessary orders to his guard. Oh, how slowly the minutes 
dragged on ! At first, excitement kept the men on the 
alert, but soon the excessive cold crept over even Edward’s 
excited feelings. 


228 


SIBYL SPENCER. 


“ Captain,” said the sergeant, respectfully, “ my men 
will be frozen if we stay still here much longer ; can’t they 
walk up and down ? ” 

Edward was in utter perplexity. What should he do ? 
He felt certain some treachery lay hidden under this mys- 
tery, but the spirit of his orders was clear and plain. 
Motioning, rather than speaking his consent, that the men 
should be marched rapidly up and down the street, Edward 
revolved in his mind the expediency of himself entering 
the house. He hesitated, anxious to save Mrs. Quincey 
from the pain of being disturbed by so violent an entrance, 
when there rang on the air a loud whistle, followed by a 
shriek so piercing, so heart-rending, that the strong men 
actually trembled as they looked into one another’s faces. 
Edward was the first to recover, with one bound he was at 
the top of the low stoop, and calling on the guard to follow, 
he burst rather than opened the door. 

The small passage way into which he entered was de- 
serted, a bright lamp burned on the table, but all within 
was as silent as the grave. A door on his left hand was 
partly open, and as he entered, he witnessed a scene which 
for the moment made his heart stand still. Immediately in 
front of him stood the spy Quincey, his wrappings and 
disguise thrown aside. At his feet, crouching on the floor, 
vainly striving, as it seemed, to clasp his knees, was his 
wretched wife. Her hair had become loosened and fell 
over her like a veil. Her eyes were red with weeping, and 
her whole attitude showed the most abject terror. At the 
other end of the room, his face pale, but otherwise as calm 
and composed as if in a drawing-room in London, resting 
one elbow on the mantel-piece, stood his friend. Captain 


THE REVENGE. 


229 


Harcourt, and in the garb of a civilian. There was some- 
thing devilish in the look Quincey cast on his wife, as, 
raising his hand, he pointed to Harcourt. 

“ That man is a Captain in the Royal Guards, in dis- 
guise, within your lines. I denounce him as a spy.’’ 

There was a moment of perfect stillness, when he hissed 
out rather than said : 

“ Now, adulteress, it is my turn.” 

Mason glanced at the poor woman, who slowly sank, 
inch by inch, until she lay motionless at the wretch’s feet, 
then turned his wondering look, first on Harcourt, then on 
the demoniacally gleeful face of Quincey. 

“ Fall back !” Edward exclaimed to the guard, “fall 
back, no questions, I command ! ” 

“ Captain Harcourt,” he went on to say, “ there must 
be some awful mistake here. You never came within our 
lines as a spy. On your honor as a gentleman, state to 
me you did not come as a spy, and whatever may be the 
consequences, you shall go free.” 

There was a moment of perfect silence, broken only by 
the mocking laugh of Quincey, when Harcourt said : 

“ You are very kind old fellow, but I don’t think — if I 
w'ere in your place — I should act so,' you know. Captain 
Mason,” and he moved a step forward, casting one look 
on the fainting woman, — “ I am your prisoner.” 



CHAPTER XXI. 

LIFE OR DEATH. 

“ I from this time forth will thus proceed, 

Justice with mercy tempering when I may, 

But executing always.” Henry Taylor. 

HE accuser and the accused, both under the 
strict surveillance of their guard, were marched 
rapidly to head-quarters. Edward Mason stayed 
a moment to commit the still unconscious 
woman to the care of the mistress of the house, whom the 
noise and bustle had brought upon the scene. Eph., 
whose boundless curiosity and self-assertion even these 
occurrences could not check, had picked up from the floor 
the letter which Harcourt had handed to Mrs. Quincey, and 
with a muttered “perhaps this can tell something,” fol- 
lowed in the footsteps of his impatient master. The two 
men did not speak during their short walk, and so rapidly 
was the distance traversed that they entered the house at 
the same moment as the guard. Edward made his way at 
once to the presence of General Brown, whom he found 
busy writing. It was with an air almost of indifference 
that his superior heard the report made by his aid. 

^230) 



LIFE OR DEATH. 


231 


“ So you know this man, do you ? ” asked General 
Brown. 

“ Indeed I do,” replied Edward ; “ it was to him, and 
him alone, I was indebted for a thousand acts of kindness, 
while I myself was a prisoner in the hands of the British.” 

“ Well, my boy,” said the General, smiling kindly at the 
excited young man, “ send him now to the guard-house, or 
take charge of him yourself, and repay, as well as you can, 
what he has done for you during the short time he is 
likely to remain here.” 

“ And the other, the spy Quincey,” asked Edward. 

“ Let him go,” returned the General, taking up his pen, 
“ to-morrow I will appoint a commission, and have the 
affair quietly looked into.” 

“But, General,” urged Edward, “ I greatly fear some 
dreadful harm will come to that wretched woman if left 
alone with this excited, almost crazy husband of hers.” 

“ Well, my young champion of Dames,” said the other, 
with a cheerful laugh, “ lock this raging ‘ Othello ’ up also, 
and then comfort the fair lady yourself. In short, my 
dear boy, act in this matter as you please. I give you full 
authority ; now not another word. Good-bye.” 

When Edward joined the party in the outer room, he 
shuddered as his eyes encountered those of Quincey, 
which seemed actually to blaze with fury. 

“ Captain Harcourt, have I your parole ? ” he asked. The 
other bowed. “ Sergeant, take this man ” — he pointed as 
he spoke, to Quincey — •“ to the guard-house ; tell the 
officer on guard to show him every kindness, but to see 
that he does not escape.” 

He had hardly finished the sentence, when, with a 


232 


SIBYL SPENCER. 


bound like a tiger, Quincey threw himself on Harcourt, 
who was standing with his back to him, and whom the 
shock threw on the floor. Had it not been for the prompt- 
ness of Eph., who passed his arm round the madman’s 
head, drawing it back until his neck was almost dislocated, 
and thus compelling him to release his hold, Quincey would 
have inflicted a severe if not a fatal injury on Harcourt. 
Quincey was immediately seized by the soldiers, and after 
a fruitless struggle secured. Eph. did not escape scathe- 
less — the maddened man had made his teeth meet in the 
fleshy part of his arm. Captain Harcourt rose breathless 
and somewhat stunned from his fall, and it was several 
moments before he spoke. 

“ I trust,” he said at last, looking at his assailant who 
was being dragged to the door, “that this attack will not 
cause any unnecessary severity to be inflicted towards that 
unhappy person. He has just cause to hate me. I am 
not in the slightest degree hurt.” 

Edward made no reply, but passing his arm through 
that of the young officer drew him away to his quarters. 
Eph. followed grimacing at the pain which the bite caused, 
and anathematizing his assailant in the quaint language of 
his class. 

“ Drat the fellow, there was no occasion to bite, ’cause 
I saved him from swinging ; ’spose you two’d like to talk a 
bit together. Guess I’ll send up what there’s to be had 
for supper, and then get one of them Doctors to put some 
yarb or other on this plaguey arm of mine. Lord ! how it 
does hurt.” 

Harcourt was greatly exhausted. He had tasted hardly 
any food the entire day, and the excitement under which he 


LIFE OR DEATH. 


233 


had labored, had worn him out. It was with difficulty that he 
forced himself to eat the plain but not uninviting food that 
Eph.’s forethought had provided. Mason watched him 
in silence. As he ran his eye over the intelligent though 
rather languid countenance, with its clear-cut features and 
aristocratic air, the athletic and graceful form, he did not 
wonder at Mrs. Quincey’s choice. He was certainly such 
a man “as limners love to paint and ladies to look 
upon.” 

“ ‘ You cast your bread upon the waters and it comes 
back to you in many days,’ or words to that effect, the good 
book says. Mason. I certainly little thought when I visited 
you in the citadel, at Quebec, I should ever be your guest 
under like circumstances.” 

“ I am indebted to you, Harcourt, for so many real acts 
of kindness, that the little I can now do is as nothing. But 
tell me,” he went on, stopping Harcourt in what he was 
about to say, “ what could have induced you to come into 
our lines, and in disguise — some strange mistake or equally 
strange fatality ! ” 

“ I certainly did not come as a spy,” answered Harcourt 
drawing his chair close to the fire, “ although I know I can 
never prove the fact before any military court. You see, 
Mason, when people speak the same language and resemble 
one another as we do, it is hard to draw imaginary lines, even 
if they exist in the eyes of military men, particularly when 
there is a constant intercourse kept up by the citizens 
without any interference on the part of either of the belliger- 
ent governments. Ah, me ! ” he went on with a sigh, “ why 
try and hide the truth from you. I had a letter, or thought 
I had one, from Lucy, asking my aid — bidding me to come 


SIBYL SPENCER. 


234 

to her. Come to her ! I would have found her if she had 
been buried ‘ in those deep solitudes and awful cells ^ that 
Pope writes of. Fool that I was, I might have known she 
never wrote the letter ! ” 

Then you did get a letter ; you were tricked, trepanned 
into this mad enterprise — I will call it by no other name,” 
eagerly asked Mason. “ Give me the letter — where is it-^ 
it may save your life ! ” 

Harcourt never moved. He sat looking silently into 
the fire, and it was not until Mason rather angrily repeated 
his question, that he answered : 

“ No, my boy, it cannot be. I must not purchase safety 
at her expense ; don’t urge me, it must not be. In the 
delirium of passion, I pressed her to break the barrier 
which fate had raised up between us. I thought that only 
to possess her, all else in this world was as nothing. Her 
fair name, my own honor. I would have sacrificed every 
thing to have called her mine. I love her so dearly, so 
fondly, that now that reflection has come, I can say I thank 
God she is saved from disgrace even at the expense of 
my own life.” 

“ But, Harcourt, you carry this chivalric feeling to the 
height of madness. Mrs. Quincey did not, you say, write 
that letter. It was the work, doubtless, of her scoundrel 
husband. How then can she be injured, even should all 
the truth be known.” 

“ How she will be injured you ask ? Listen. In my in- 
terview I took advantage of the power which her love for 
me gave me. I obtained her consent that she would fly 
with me. This wretch, I cannot call him a man, who could 
pander to his own dishonor — who could accept revenge at 


LIFE OR DEATH. 


235 


the expense of his wife’s fair fame — this creature heard 
every word. Heard my mad pleadings. Heard her agonizing 
consent, and then offered to open the door of safety to me 
if, by so doing, I would admit her shame. Lucy Quincey, 
save in loving me, has no fault. She is pure and spotless. 
What is my useless life compared to her honor. No, no, 
urge me no more, my resolve is taken.” Harcourt buried 
his face in his hands as he finished speaking. 

Mason thought long and anxiously over General Brown’s 
parting speech — “ act in this matter as you please. I give 
you full authority.” Had he authority to release his pris- 
oner ? Could he allow him to escape ? His heart was deeply 
moved for the firm, manly character, who with every thing 
before him to make life enjoyable — wealth, high position, 
such as were almost unknown in America — yet ran the 
risk of being shot as a spy, rather than cast the breath of 
suspicion on the woman he loved. 

“ Look here, Harcourt,” Mason said at length, “ General 
Brown gave me full authority to act in this affair as I chose. 
I am going to let you go.” A bright look came into the 
other’s face as he heard these words, and stretching out his 
hand, he took that of Mason’s. 

“ Mason, old fellow, I promise you on my honor, that 
no thought of obtaining information on any subject, save 
what was connected with Lucy ever came into my mind. 
To this I pledge you my honor as a soldier and a gentle- 
man. But have you this authority ? ” 

“ Yes, I think so,” answered Mason rather hesitatingly, 
in reply to this direct question ; “ at any rate I will take the 
responsibility.” 

“ No, no, old boy, that won’t do,” said the other rising 


236 


SIBYL SPENCER. 


from his seat and again taking his hand ; “ you are very 
kind to me, Mason ; you are a gentleman in every sense 
of the word, but you must not do for me what I should 
hesitate to do for you, and unless the order had been 
positive, you know, ’pon my word, I don’t think I could 
have done so even for you, you know.” 

“ Harcourt, I dread the commission if you are sent 
before one ; for me it will be nothing. I can truly say 
the General gave me full authority to act as I thought 
best.” 

“Is that my bed ?” said Harcourt shortly, pointing as 
he spoke to one that stood in a corner of the room. “I am 
very tired — quite knocked up. Have me called at any hour 
you want me. Good-night.” He threw himself as he spoke 
on the bed, and in one minute was sleeping as calmly as 
an infant. 

There was something very striking in the calm high 
bred way in which this 3^oung Englishman met the almost 
certain consequences of his own folly. Could General 
Brown have been present at this interview, and conversant 
with all the facts. Mason would have had but little fears of 
the result. But Harcourt would be sent before a judge 
to whom the act was every thing, the intention nothing. 
As these thoughts crossed his mind Mason descended to 
the lower room which was used in common by all attached 
to the military family of General Brown. Here he found 
Eph. in a state of high excitement talking to a woman, ev- 
idently endeavoring to prevent her further entrance into 
the house. It needed but a glance, notwithstanding her 
wrappings, for Mason to recognize Mrs. Quincey. As he 
came near she threw back her veil, and showed him a face 


LIFE OR DEATH. 237 

beautiful in its palor, and lit up by eyes which shone in 
the midst of tears. 

“ Oh, Captain Mason, save him, save him ! ” were all the 
words her broken voice could command. 

With the gentle kindness of a brother. Mason drew 
her into an adjoining apartment. He shrank from hav- 
ing her exposed to the curious gaze of the rough order- 
lies in attendance. He placed a chair for her near 
the fire, and endeavored vainly to comfort a creature 
without hope. 

“ Oh, Captain Mason ! ” she exclaimed, “ this is my 
my doing. I, and I only, am responsible for this murder, 
for murder it will be, if Charles loses his life. It was to 
save me, arid me only, from what he knew was a life of 
misery, that he came here. I did not write the letter, but 
I was the cause of its being written. And now he — he 
must suffer and for my fault.” 

“ My dear Mrs. Quincey,” said Mason, still holding her 
hand and stroking it as he would have done to a little 
child, “ pray compose yourself, our only hope of saving 
Harcourt from the consequences of his folly lies in prov- 
ing the reason of his having come within our lines. Where 
is the letter ? ” 

“ I do not know,” said the wretched woman, drawing 
away her hand and brushing off the tears which filled her 
eyes. “ I have not seen the letter since he came into the 
room.” A shudder ran through her frame as she alluded 
to her husband. “ Captain Harcourt must have it — I 
think I gave it back to him.” 

Mason bent over the fire and kicked the burning logs 
with angry impatience. 


238 


SIBYL SPENCER. 


“ Then he is lost,” he said at length. 

“ Oh, no, no ! don’t say so,” exclaimed Lucy, clasping 
her hands, “ oh, why are you so cruel as to say that ? ” 

“ I have tried my best this evening to induce Harcourt 
to make public the statement of what brought him within 
our lines, and he obstinately refuses.” 

“ Why,” said she, looking up with a face of "childlike 
simplicity. “ What reason can he have ? ” 

“ He says it will compromise your honor.” 

“ My honor ! why should my honor or my life or any 
thing which belongs to me interfere with his safety. Lis- 
ten to me. Captain Mason. Go to this General of yours, 
I do not even know his name. Go and say that the love 
that Lucy Quincey, the wife of a paid spy in your service, 
could not help showing to the playmate of her childhood, 
to the affianced husband of her youth, was made use of as 
a lure to satisfy the revenge of a wretch so base that at 
any time he would have staked that wife’s honor on the 
chance of a card or the hazard of a die.” 

She had risen from her seat as she spoke. Her heavy 
cloak had fallen back, her long curls, damp from the night 
air, hung half shrouding her pale face in which shone an 
expression of fixed determination. 

“ Go, go at once, I say, to this General who holds in 
his hands the issue of life and death. Tell him the man 
he is going to condemn is innocent of every thing but of 
loving the heart-broken creature who stands before you. 
If Harcourt dies, and by my hand, for it will be by my 
hand, what is honor to me but an empty name. Go, Cap- 
tain Mason, tell him all this — tell it from me.” 

Why not say it yourself, and not send a messenger ? ” 


LIFE OR DEATH. 


239 

said a clear low voice behind them, and it was with a start 
both Mason and Mrs. Quincey turned to find General Brown, 
wrapped in his military cloak, his heavy horseman’s boots 
covered with snow, standing a silent spectator of their in- 
terview. 



CHAPTER XXII. 

THE REPRIEVE. 

“ A letter forged St. Jude to speed, 

Did ever knight so foul a deed ? ” 

Scott. 

ASON was but little astonished at the sudden 
entrance of General Brown, for at all hours of 
the day and night he was accustomed to make 
unexpected visits to hospital, barrack or outpost, 
to see personally if the efforts he was making to change, in 
one winter, the raw recruit and undisciplined militia man 
into the trained and obedient soldier were successful. 

To Lucy Quincey, General Brown’s personal appearance 
was unknown. She only saw a handsome soldierly man, 
of middle age, in the full uniform of a general of the army, 
and by the respectful manner in which he was received by 
her companion, she knew at once who he was. Motion- 
ing her to a chair, the General threw off the cloak which 
he wore, and placing his cocked hat on the table, turned 
abruptly towards Mason and asked in quick, stern tones — 
“ Who is this lady. Captain Mason ? ” 

As briefly as he could. Mason stated who Mrs. Quincey 
was, and the errand on which she had come. He took 
advantage of the opening thus made for him, and urged 
in his own behalf a strong petition for the release of his 

(240) 




THE REPRIEVE. 


241 


friend. General Brown heard him all through without ut- 
tering a word, and with the same stern expression of coun- 
tenance, which softened a little as he turned his look on 
the beautiful woman, who with every feeling of her soul 
centred in her gaze, sat with folded hands, listening to 
the words which she knew meant either life or death for 
him she loved better than life. 

“You say,” he said, addressing himself suddenly to 
Lucy, “ a letter was written in your name, asking him 
to come and rescue you from danger. Who wrote this 
letter ? You say you did not.” 

“ My husband.” 

“Your husband?” a smile of incredulity crossed for 
an instant the General’s face. “ Where is this letter ? ” 

“ Alas ! ” said the poor woman, “ I do not know ; after 
my fainting fit, all raemory except his danger was forgot- 
ten. Send — send instantly to the house, it must be 
there ! ” 

“ Then you were yourself ignorant of any knowledge 
of this intended visit of Captain Harcourt, I think you call 
him ? ” 

“ Such an idea never crossed my mind,” she answered. 

“You have held no communication whatsoever, by let- 
ter or messenger, with this officer, since you have entered 
the territory of the United States?” he continued. 

“ Neither message nor letter of any kind or nature 
whatsoever.” 

“ Captain Mason, where is this young officer ? ” 

“ He is at presept, sir, in my quarters ; I understood 
that you gave me authority.” 

“ Yes, yes, you might have stretched that authority 
16 


242 


SIBYL SPENCER. 


further without my rebuking you. Oblige me by sending 
or going for him, and at the same time, Mason, tell one of 
the orderlies to have a corporal’s guard here in readi- 
ness.” 

As Mason left the room. General Brown turned to- 
wards Lucy, and after looking at her for a moment, said, 
slowly and distinctly, 

“ Now, madam, if you will control yourself and keep 
quiet, and this young officer’s story agrees with yours, I 
will take his parole as a prisoner of war.” 

Lucy could only clasp her hands in thankfulness. 

The General walked to the window and appeared to be 
looking out on the still, quiet winter’s night. Oh, how the 
minutes dragged ! It appeared to Lucy as if Harcourt 
never, never would come. She thought little or nothing 
of herself. The weary years of mental suffering, the ne- 
glect, the shame, the brutal ill usage, had been in these 
last few hours forgotten. In memory Lucy went back to 
her youth — to the play-fellow, the gentle, affectionate 
boy-lover — to the man who to her first whispered love 
— to the only man she had loved. As she sat so still and 
quiet, the big tears trembling on the long eyelashes, a 
faint tinge of color flickering in her cheek. General Brown 
felt, as he turned and looked on her, that he must be 
more than a man who could refuse to risk life and honor 
at the call of such a woman. But what was she ? Was 
she an adventuress ? Was he the dupe of a well-laid plot, 
or was this one of those cases of mental aberration men 
call love ? The door opened. General Brown turned 
quickly and fixed his eye intently on the young officer 
who entered. As Harcourt saw Lucy, he gave a sudden 


THE REPRIEVE. 


243 


Start, grew deadly pale, then flushed a deep, burning red. 
He never spoke a word, nor did a sign of recognition ever 
so slight, pass between the two thus suddenly brought into 
each other's presence. 

“ Your name and rank ? ” 

“Captain the Hon. Charles Harcourt, ist Reg. foot 
guards, at present attached to the staff of Gen. Sir George 
Prevost, Governor and Commander-in-chief of his B. Ma- 
jesty’s provinces of the Canadas.” 

“ Your business within the military lines of the United 
States ? ” 

“ Upon my word, sir, it were hard to tell — a silly freak 
to see how you Yankees fared during the cold weather. I 
think that is about the best reason I can give.” 

“Well, sir, and what is your opinion of how the 
‘Yankees,’ as you call them, fare?” inquired the General, 
not a tone of his voice altering at the affected imperti- 
nence of the young Englishman’s speech. 

“ My opportunities have been so few, arriving in this 
village after dark as I did, and since then being so care- 
fully cared for, that I prefer not answering the question.” 

“ Are you ignorant, that for a soldier to enter the 
camps, lines, or other military positions of the enemy in 
disguise, is a crime punishable by the articles of war, of 
all civilized nations, by death ? ” 

Harcourt’s only answer was a bow. 

“ Then, not pleading ignorance, thee came as a spy, 
thee has been taken as such, and to-morrow at sunrise, 
thee shall be shot ! ” General Brown’s voice became ter- 
rible in its intensity, but it was the only sign he gave of 
ordinary feeling, in thus dooming a fellow-creature to eter- 


244 


SIBYL SPENCER. 


nity. His face wore a smile, his attitude was graceful and 
unaffected as he stood with his back to the fire, facing the 
little group. Mason had started forward as if about to 
speak, but a quick wave of the hand had showed the fruit- 
lessness of any such attempt. As for Lucy, abject fear 
had taken away the power of motion, and she sat like an 
image carved in rock. Harcourt had manned himself, but 
all his courage could not prevent the tremor which ran 
through his veins, and for an instant his voice, as he an- 
swered, quivered. 

“ I shall make no attempt, sir — I feel it would be use- 
less — to soften a sentence to which, as a military man, I am 
liable, under the state of facts as you know them. I have, 
however, one favor to ask. Let the name and rank of 
Charles Harcourt be omitted from the record. Let him 
sink into a nameless grave, untainted, at least so far as 
his family and the world know, with disgrace ! ” 

“ Thee shall have thy wish. Can I do more for thee ? ’’ 

“ No ; I thank you. I have had more kindness than I 
had any right to expect.” The words fell mournfully from 
the young officer’s lips, and his eyes rested, full of love and 
sadness, on the beautiful statue before him. 

“ Return, then,” said General Brown, “ to the chamber 
you occupied. You shall pass this night alone with your 
God. You meet your fate as a brave man should. I rely 
upon your honor if you will give it. I pay this compliment 
to thy courage.” The General bent his head courteously 
and motioned to Mason to accompany his friend. The 
noise of the closing door broke the trance in which Mrs. 
Quincey sat. It was with a gasping sob she fell forward, 
clasping the hand of the General as she did so. 


THE REPRIEVE. 


245 


“ Spare him ! for the love of God, spare him ! He is 
no spy. I — I brought him here. I— I alone, am guilty ! 
Punish me, but do not make the innocent suffer.” General 
Brown raised her from her knees and compelled her to 
seat herself. ^ Then taking her hand, he said in a kindly 
tone : 

“ My poor child, I would willingly grant much more 
than this to a woman’s tears. But your story and that of 
this young man do not agree. He admits he came into 
our lines to obtain information. I fear he has but played 
with your affection.” 

“ Oh, no, no. General, why won’t you believe me ? We 
have known each other ever since we were children. I 
was to have been married to him, but they forced us apart. 
We met again at Quebec. He saw how I was treated. 
He saw how I was abused, neglected, yes, and even beat- 
en. He never spoke to me but as a man should speak to 
a dearly loved sister ; but I knew the time would come, 
when the old love would break out, and then we should 
be lost ! ” She covered her face with her hands and 
sobbed convulsively. It was with a voice husky with 
tears, that she went on — 

“ A scene took place one evening, at which Captain 
Mason was present. My husband had cheated at cards, 
and Captain Harcourt discovered him and exposed him, 
and forced him to refund what he had gained. Oh, Gen 
eral, I had borne every thing. I had been made the tool, 
by which men, old men as well as young, had been drawn 
to our house to be robbed and plundered. Oh, do not 
judge me harshly ; think kindly of me. I was so young. I 
was alone, no voice to support me, no eye to pity. The 


246 


SIBYL SPENCER. 


wife of a man to whom honor was an empty sound. But 
I weary, I tire you. Do not turn from me, oh, I shall die 
I shall die ! ” 

The heart-broken woman bent her face to her very 
knees as she rocked herself to and fro in agony. 

“ Indeed, indeed you do not tire me, my poor child,” 
said the General. “ Speak to me as you would to a father. 
Tell me the truth, the entire truth, and if thy story is what 
I am willing to believe it to be, I will spare this youth’s 
life, and put thee not only where thee will be safe, but 
honored and respected. Compose thyself and then pro- 
ceed.” 

It was some moments before she recovered sufficient 
composure to resume her narrative. 

“ When my husband was detected as a cheat, in his 
mad rage he accused Captain Harcourt of being my lover. 
There was no word too vile, there was no accusation too 
base, which was not heaped on my head. At length I 
turned on him. The worm they say turns at length. I 
had in my hands some notes to which he had forged the 
signatures. I threatened to send them to Sir George un- 
less he consented to our separating forever. To save 
himself he agreed, and I chose the States. Why, I know 
not, except it erected between Harcourt and myself a bar- 
rier as impassable, I thought, as the grave. For two months 
I have lived alone here. My scanty stock of money 
almost gone, without hope, helpless, homeless, alone. In 
my despair, to save myself from appealing to Charles, I 
asked aid of Captain Mason, whom I had recognized soon 
after my arrival. He promised me succor. Promised to 
send me to some quiet place, where his own family lived, 


THE REPRIEVE. 247 

and where, by teaching music, the only accomplishment I 
possess, I might earn my bread.” 

“ Your story agrees with Mason's word for word. Go 
on, finish thy history ; but do not excite thyself. You in- 
terest me much.” 

“ There is but little left, sir, to tell. My husband had 
discovered my retreat. This evening Harcourt stood be- 
fore me. He had received a letter in my handwriting, 
asking him to come to me, offering myself to him, if he 
would only come and save me. Oh, I cannot go on.” 

Poor Lucy, her cheeks, lately so deadly pale, were now 
burning red. 

“ Yes, yes, I will. What are my feelings compared to 
his life. I told him the letter was not mine, but he was 
there. The love of years broke down the barrier I had 
raised. He urged me to fly with him, and I consented. 
My husband, who had planned the whole affair, had in 
some manner obtained a guard. From you, sir, did he not ? ” 

“ He did. He had written me that a spy could be 
taken, by sending a guard to a certain house at a certain 
hour. As a general rule, I pay little attention to such 
letters, but there were military reasons which made me 
anxious to know if I was not being played with. I mis- 
trusted your husband, so I sent the guard.” 

“ Well, sir, to bring my long story to an end, my hus- 
band had heard all that passed. To gratify his mad 
hatred he called in the guard. Now, General, you know 
all — on my honor, all.” 

“ I wish, Mrs. Quincey, we had that letter. I will call 
Mason. Oh, here he is. Mason, did none of the guard 
find this fnuch-talked-of letter ? ” 


248 


SIBYL SPENCER, 


“ I am happy to say, General, that my servant, who had 
from curiosity followed me, picked it up,” and he handed, 
as he spoke, the paper to General Brown, who read it half 
to himself and half aloud. 

“ A very clever forgery, but none but a boy would imag- 
ine it came from a woman. The turn of the sentences, 
the expressions used, are those of a man. Why did this 
young fellow keep silence on what might have saved his 
life. Can you answer me that. Mason ? ” 

“ A chivalrous sense of honor, sir, I believe. He re- 
proaches himself with this lady’s suffering, and thought by 
silence to save her fair name.” 

“ How strange is the human heart ! Mason. My child, 
I will keep you no longer in suspense. Your lover (par- 
don the word, I mean no reproach) shall not suffer death. 
This I promise, but you must be placed in safety. Now 
go home and sleep in peace. You are worn out with 
anxiety and sorrow. Mason send one of the orderlies with 
her. Dismiss that guard and come back. I want to talk 
with you.” 

When Mason returned to the room he found the Gen- 
eral standing in the same attitude before the fire, the letter 
still in his hand. 

“ My boy, I said how strange is the human heart. 
See now, this young officer braves death, disgrace, any 
thing to obtain a woman. She is within his grasp. She 
consents. He has but to call her the thing he would have 
made her. His honor revolts at the idea. The word 
blisters his tongue to utter. He would rather die than 
speak it. Where is he ? How does he act in this dread- 
ful trial ? ” 


THE REPRIEVE. 


249 


“ I never saw a man more calm, General. After thank- 
ing me for all I had tried to do for him, he threw himself 
on his bed and now sleeps as quietly as a child.’’ 

“ Sleeps, does he,” muttered the General. “ Sleeps, 
when to-morrow’s sun sends him, as he thinks, to eternity. 
They are a strange race, these Norman-English, and yet 
their great warrior, their greatest ruler, Cromwell, was but 
a simple gentleman. Take this young man’s parole not to 
serve until he has been exchanged and send him back after 
he has recovered from his fatigue. Make arrangements 
for this fair lady’s safety and honor, as you would for a 
sister. Now, dismiss these thoughts from your mind, Ed- 
ward. We shall have to sound ‘boot and saddle soon.’ 
We change our head-quarters this week.” 

“ Oh, General, have we orders to advance ? ” 

‘‘ Mason, they have made me a Major-general in the 
regular army. I am now in command of this whole fron- 
tier. I asked for thee the rank of Lieut.-colonel, and thee 
has it. We must beat these English — that is, as old 
Nat Green said, ‘if an English soldier can be beaten ’ — if 
it were but to show them what a man of peace can do.” 
He broke into a merry, hearty laugh, and slapping his 
young aid affectionately on the shoulder, added — 

“ Edward, like a true knight of old you love to succor 
distressed damsels and love sick squires. Now, my boy, 
show me you are worthy of your spurs. Good-night.” 



CHAPTER XXIII. 

THE CANNY SCOT. 

“ His unclosed eye 
Yet lowering on his enemy 
As if the hour that seal’d his fate, 

Surviving left his quenchless hate.” 

The Giaour. 

ASON’S nerves had been severely taxed by the 
scene he had witnessed, and he sat down by the 
fire in the outer room, anxious to recover some 
composure. The soldiers on duty sat or lay doz- 
ing on the chairs or benches, and nothing broke the perfect 
stillness except the tread of the sentinel on duty, and the 
low cadence of the tune he was whistling to break the 
monotony of his night watch. 

Mason had fallen into a half sleep when the steps of a 
man running rapidly, and the quick, sharp challenge of the 
sentry, made him start to his feet. The outer door was 
flung open, and a man panting with haste entered. The 
spy, Quincey, had made a desperate effort to escape from 
the guard-house, and one of the sentries had fired on him ; 
he was supposed to be dying, and had earnestly begged 
that Edward might be sent for. Putting on his overcoat, 
Edward accompanied the man to the guard-house. This 
was an old barn, which had been hastily fitted up to serve 
the requirements of the service. Several small cells, to 
act as places of confinement, had been built in the rear 

(250) 




THE CANNY SCOT. 25 1 

of the building, and the whole had been made warm and 
comparatively comfortable by two large stoves. 

On a blanket in front of one of the stoves lay Quincey, 
the damp dews of death on his forehead, and his features 
pinched and drawn by the agony he was suffering. By 
his side knelt a middle aged man, a surgeon in one of the 
regiments quartered at Sackett’s Harbor. The doctor held 
in his hand a long probe, and his case of instruments was 
open by his side. 

“ Ye maun lay quiet, mon,” said he to the wounded 
man, with a strong Scotch accent. “ How the deel can I 
probe ye when ye wriggle sa.” 

“ Torment me no more,” said the wounded man. I 
am beyond the reach of mortal aid.” 

“ Ye ken the truth, mon,” said the doctor as he bent 
over and moistened the sufferer’s lips with spirits and 
w’ater. “ Ye maun cross the dark river, an there be a 
river, which nae one of us can tell.” He rose as he spoke, 
and turning to Edward, went on — 

“ The mon is wounded unto death, and he kens it well. 
He’s been asking for ye, captain, so I jist sent oue of the 
laddies to make known his wishes. If ye have aught to 
say ye maun say it quickly. He has nae more than a half 
turn of the glass to linger.” 

Quincey heard the softly uttered words, and opening 
his eyes, turned them slowly on Mason. “ I sent for you, 
captain, to make you my heir. Will you bend down here. 
It pains me to talk loud.” 

Mason knelt down by his side, all his aversion gone, as 
he looked at the dying wretch. 

. “ Can I do any thing for you, Mr. Quincey, or rather, 


252 


SIBYL SPENCER. 


will you not let me send for some minister of religion to 
soothe these last moments.” 

“ No, no,” said the man, speaking in a stronger tone 
than he had heretofore used. “ As I have sown, so must 
I reap. Mr. Mason, I have on me some hundreds of dol- 
lars ; I give them to you to be used for her benefit. Find 
her some quiet home where she can live in peace until she 
can return to England.” 

“I will,” said Edward, much moved by the intensity of 
the man’s utterance. “ I will treat her as I would my own 
sister. But would it not be better to send her at once 
through the lines, and let her join her family without delay ? ” 

“ No, I say no ! ” almost screamed the man ; “ what, 
give her, before I am cold, to that Harcourt. They will 
be happy enough as it is, when they hear I am dead.” 
He shuddered as he spoke j “ I am cold, give me some 
more spirits ; more, more,” for the physician gave it to him 
in a spoon. “ There is no danger of my dying a drunk- 
ard,” and he broke into a sneering laugh. Ineffably dis- 
gusted, Edward made a motion to rise. The dying wretch 
clutched him by the arm. 

“ Don’t leave me, I would pray, if I thought my prayer 
would be answered. The prayers of the righteous avail 
much, they say ; perhaps some fiend from hell will answer 
mine.” 

Wretched man ! ” exclaimed Edward, “ think, in a few 
short minutes you will stand before your God. If you 
have suffered wrong, forgive, as you hope to be forgiven. ” 

“ Forgive ! forgive !” muttered the other, his voice grow- 
ing feebler and feebler, while his hand pulled idly at the 
blanket thrown over him. Spirits were poured down his 


THE CANNY SCOT. 253 

throat this time in quantities. For an instant it gave him 
strength. 

“ Listen,” he said. “From my birth I have been a 
pariah — illegitimate. The sins of the father have been, in 
my case, visited on the child. There is no vice of which I 
am not guilty. There was but one bright spot, my love 
for her. Of that he robbed me. No, in this I do him 
wrong. It never was mine. Now, with my last word I 
say, were a long life mine, or might I sup this night in 
Paradise, I would give it all to see him lying dead by my 
side. Adieu.” 

In the strong excitement of his words he had raised 
his head, which now fell heavily back, as his breathing 
grew more and more labored. 

“ It is over,” said Edward, rising to his feet and ad- 
dressing the doctor who stood by. 

“ Not yet,” said the man, “the carl will breathe some 
time yet. He will never speak more. Ye are not used to 
such scenes. Captain Mason. Ye had better come to my 
quarters and take a hot punch to cheer ye a bit. , There’s 
nae use in staying by sich a freckless loon, with the death 
rattle in his throat.” Edward cast a long look on Quincey, 
whose breathing grew each moment shorter and shorter, 
then turned for an explanation as to how he had been 
wounded. 

The explanation was simple. Their orders had been 
to treat him kindly but not to allow him to escape. For 
more than two hours he had sat patiently by the stove 
without making a motion or uttering a word. Suddenly he 
darted to the door. The sentinel outside hearing the cry 
of “ stop him ! stop him ! ” fired, and Quincey dropped. 


254 


SIBYL SPENCER. 


“ I’ll nae say,” muttered the Scotch surgeon as he 
carefully arranged his instruments in their case — “ I’ll nae 
say I am not ower kind-hearted. Had the case been at 
St. Bat, there’s mony a man would have amputated at the 
thigh joint. ’Tis a hard thing. Captain Mason, to be too 
soft-hearted. Ye dinna rise in your profession, de ye ken 
that ? ” 

“ Why did you not do it,” said Mason sternly ; “ it was 
your duty to save the man’s life.” 

“ I am na so sure about the saving,” said the cautious 
Scot ; “ it is my ain opinion, he’d a died under the knife. 
The shock is ower great for the constitution. Then the 
bullet lodged somewhere in the great intestine. I’ll na 
use medical terms, for ye wouldn’t understand me if I did, 
but inflammation would have done the business after all.” 

Mason felt deadly sick and longed for the fresh air ; 
the doctor, his amputating case under his arm, kept close 
by his side. 

“ ’Tis for aye the same old story. Captain Mason. 
Wine, women, and play — they bring mony a pretty fellow 
to a sae ending. Ye maun cum in and we will have a 
brew, not to get fou, but as Tommy Burns has it — ^ye hae 
heard of Tommy, na doubt. ‘Jist a drappy in our e’e.’ ” 

“ You are very kind,” said Mason, “ but I am worn out 
with fatigue, and perhaps the General — ” 

“ Deel dout him,” interrupted the other ; “ he’s a carl 
loon, is the General. But I mind the time well, and its 
nae so lang since ether, he nae have left good company 
till the cock crow. Ye mind the old story. Captain Mason, 
and it was my ain forbear as said it. He was a licensed 
preacher, and he gave it to his flock somewhat in thiswise. 


THE CANNY SCOT. 


255 


It was way up in Perthshire — ’tis a sour country is the 
Hill country, and the carls were nae muckle afraid to 
keep the damp out. 

“Ye maun hai,” he said, “ be aye dram, dramming. But 
w’hen ye have a friend, or the night’s owna cold, or any 
other reason, ye can take a wee drap, ‘for the stomach’s 
sake.’ I’ll nae say St. Paul was nae a reasonable man. 
But ye must be owna careful of the sin of dram, dram- 
ming.” Dragging Mason after him, perhaps nothing loath, 
he mounted the stairs to the quarters he occupied. 

“There, ye’ll nae find sich a tipple in the States. It’s 
real Glenlivet. Rax me the kittle fra the hob, I aye keep 
it on the simmer.” 

Mason was amused by the original character of the 
man he had encountered. There was, with all his rattle, a 
constraint which sat ill on him, and as Mason studied his 
face, he saw in it the lines and marks of a dissipated life. 
After they had commenced their second punch. Mason 
expressed, in a civil way, his astonishment at finding a 
Scotchman engaged as surgeon in the American service. 
It was as the man had said in the commencement of their 
interview, but the old story, “ wine, women, and play.” 
Reckless, at last he found himself a homeless wanderer in 
the new world. Accident threw him in the way of General 
Brown, then holding a subordinate position on the staff of 
the Commander-in-chief of the American army. The tact 
and kindness of General Brown weaned him from his evil 
habits, and he had followed him to the settlement which 
the former was making in the wild Black River country, 
and settled down into a hum-drum country physician. It 
was but natural he should become the surgeon on the staff 


256 


SIBYL SPENCER. 


of the General, who had organized the militia of the new 
district, and as naturally he followed his regiment when 
they were ordered into service by the governor of the 
State. 

“ I’ll nae say. Captain Mason, it was not agin the grain, 
when I heard the ‘ blue bonnets were over the border.’ 
But I aye comfort myself wi’ the reflection,” and the 
man’s eyes twinkled with sly humor as he spoke, “ that 
there’s deel a one of them all will kill more of you Yankees, 
with ‘ brown Bess,’ than I may do, if I have luck with the 
scalpel and the pill-box. Take a wee drap more, Captain 
Mason, afore you gie out in the cold. You are tired and 
excited, and I will give you a composing draught that will 
make you sleep.” 

“ Many thanks, my good sir,” Edward answered wdth 
a laugh as he rose to take his departure. “ But after your 
frank confession I prefer to trust to nature.” 

“ You are a sharp laddie,” the Doctor said, wringing 
warmly the hand extended to him. “ I ken that well, 
and as one of our new Scotch poets says, 

“ And if thou £-oest among the rest 
With Scottish broadsword to be blest, 

Sharp be the brand and sure the blow' 

And short the pang to undergo.” 

The sun had long risen before Edward woke Harcourt 
from the deep sleep which he had kept uninterruptedly 
during the night. It needed but a glance at Mason’s 
smiling face to tell the young Englishman that he was not 
to stand before a firing party that morning. 

“ So one more day added to the list, I see,” Harcourt 


THE CANNY SCOT. 257 

said sadly, rising and seating himself on the side of the 
bed. 

“ Many, very many, I trust, my dear Harcourt,” an- 
swered Edward ; “ my orders are to send you through the 
lines — you are on parole until exchanged.” 

For some moments Harcourt sat silent, then he arose 
and walked to the window and stood looking on the 
bright morning sunshine, glancing back from the white 
surface of the snow. When he turned, his lips quivered 
and a tear trickled down his cheek. 

‘‘ God is very kind, Edward. May he bless you and 
yours. That wretched man, I trust he has been released.” 

“ Yes, by death,” Edward answered, and briefly related 
the circumstances of the night. Harcourt heard him 
through in silence ; he walked slowly up and down the 
room several times, then stopped in front of his compan- 
ion and said : 

“ Will you act for her, Lucy, I mean, as you said you 
would, before my wretched advent ? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ Add one more to the many obligations I am under. 
Take from me a sufficient sum of money, and place it in 
such hands that, until I can make other arrangements, she 
will be above want. Time must elapse before Lucy and I 
can meet. I feel now as if there were blood on my hands.” 

“ My dear Harcourt, dismiss such an idea from your 
mind. You were not even remotely the cause of that 
wretched man’s death.” 

Harcourt did not answer, he had turned again to the 
window, and it was some moments before he could con- 
trol his feelings sufficiently to speak. Then he said : 

n 


358 


SIBYL SPENCER. 


“ Edward, my trust in you is as unbounded as my 
gratitude. I leave Lucy in your hands, only see she does 
not want for any thing that money can buy. Your looks 
tell me you are impatient to be gone. Tell that Eph., that 
man of yours, to come here, he has been in and out several 
times during the night. I should like to appear like a 
gentleman, even if I am a prisoner.” 

“ I will send him, with pleasure, my dear Harcourt, but 
Eph. has not the mildest idea of what constitutes a valet.” 

“ He can steal for me a clean shirt, I make no doubt,” 
replied the other with a laugh; “ I want you to present me 
to that General of yours. I was impertinent to him last 
night, and I wish to make my excuse. He is a brave 
soldier, if ever there was one, you can see it in his eye. — 
How it flashed as I made that boyish speech ! ” 

. “ I can present you easily enough to the General, as he 
told me to ask you if you would breakfast with him this 
morning.” 

“ I esteem the honor greatly. But, my dear fellow, how 
strange are life’s vicissitudes. A suspected spy, a con- 
demned prisoner, and now — but if I am to appear as a decent 
man, let alone in the character of a gentleman, please let 
that man of yours steal that shirt — and one more favor, do 
you not think there is some vessel which contains a little, a 
very little, more water in the house than this.” 

Harcourt made his apologies, and thanked the General 
with the calm quiet a'r of a man thoroughly at home in 
every class of society. He related, with perfect frankness, 
the means he had used to enter the village of Sackett’s 
Harbor, and concluded by saying — 

“ I was not aware how very closely allied the inhabitants 


THE CANNY SCOT. 259 

of each district were, General, until my experience on this 
little trip.” 

“ I suppose not,” replied the General. “ Those are 
facts carefully kept from the knowledge of ‘ men in power.’ 
Smuggling goes on, I know, to a great extent. The perfect 
blockade which your government now are making so 
stringent, has made luxuries very costly. But to change 
the subject, where have you served ? ” 

When the natural shyness and reserve of his dis- 
position wore off, Harcourt was a capital talker. He 
had served on the staff in Spain, and had been a party to 
the masterly retreat of the British into the lines of “ Torres 
Vedras.” His description of Spanish character, and of the 
almost insurmountable difficulties under which the British 
commander had labored, was interesting in the extreme. 
Accident had brought him in contact with more than one of 
the French Marshals commanding in Spain, and the con- 
trasts he drew between these celebrated men were life-like 
in their outline. 

Charmed as Edward was by this conversation, which 
opened a life of which before he had been ignorant, he 
was still more struck with the intelligent and remarkable 
knowledge which General Brown displayed on all the sub- 
jects connected with the different armies, and the countries 
in which they were engaged. Several times he corrected 
Harcourt in some trivial matter connected with the geog- 
raphy of the battle grounds ; so much so, that the young 
Englishman expressed his surprise and belief that he must 
have visited the locality. 

“ No, I have not,” said the general, smiling, “ I have 
never had the good fortune of travelling. My information, 


2 So 


SIBYL SPENCER. 


crude and slight as it is, has been drawn solely from books 
and an occasional conversation with some one as intelli- 
gent as yourself.” 

He paused a moment, and glanced out of the window 
at a sleigh which had stopped before the house ; and then 
continued in a different tone of voice — 

“ Captain Harcourt, there is a pass in my handwriting, 
yonder is a sleigh with a soldier in attendance, they will 
take you to He named some point on the Ca- 

nada line. “ I have your parole not to serve until ex- 
changed. No, not one word,” he said, interrupting the young 
man, who, blushing deeply, was about speaking. “ If she 
loves you she will wait ; if not, ‘one nail drives out an- 
other,’ as your French friends say. Captain Mason will 
see you off. Good-by. Perhaps we may meet again.” He 
held out his hand as he spoke and immediately left the 
room. 

It was a long dreary ride that cold day to the point se- 
lected, and Harcourt’s only companions were his thoughts. 
The reaction had set in, the nerves so long strung began to 
give way. It is so easy to meet sorrow in company, but 
when solitude comes, to look at the future alone, and at 
twenty-six, the future has a dim, distant look, very hard to 
meet. Harcourt was powerless. His good sense told him 
that the kindness of General Brown had saved him from 
what, under ordinary circumstances, would have been a 
fatal folly. Then he had in a manner given his word ; he 
could only strain his eyes until they ached to catch the last 
glimpse of the little village in which she was staying. 



CHAPTER XXIV. 

A woman’s estimate. 

“To sigh, yet feel no pain ; 

To weep, yet scarce know why.” 

Browning. 

IBYL was enchanted at the idea of having a 
companion, and as Edward had painted Mrs. 
Quincey’s forlorn and helpless condition, her at- 
tractive person and accomplished manners, in 

glowing colors, her reception at D was warm in the 

extreme. 

Doctor Spencer, who, to the delight and astonishment 
of physician and friends, had apparently taken a new lease 
of life, was charmed by the bright, lively conversation of 
the young Englishwoman. She had passed so much of her 
earlier life among scenes and places of which the Doctor 
had only read, that to have described by an intelligent and 
well-educated eyewitness, the wonders of the old world, its 
cathedrals, its galleries, its palaces, was a never-ending 
source of pleasure. 

Kind-hearted and affectionate, Lucy’s happiness grew 
with the happiness she was giving. Like all women 
of her temperament, she unconsciously caught the tone 
and feelings of the hour, and of those with whom she as- 
sociated. The gentle, loving, holy nature of Doctor 
Spencer — his wonderful powers of imparting information 

(261) 



262 


SIBYL SPENCER. 


and instruction, while he seemed only desirous of whiling 
away the present hour, opened to his young guest a new 
life of hopes and joys and pleasures. Ever anxious to 
render Mrs. Quincey at ease with herself, an effort was 
made to procure pupils for her in music. The only one 
who really profited by her knowledge was Sibyl herself. 
The dreamy spiritual nature of the girl made her keenly 
alive to the power of music, and, as under Lucy’s able in- 
struction her natural gifts developed rapidly, a new world 
seemed to be opened to her. It seemed to her as if there 
were thoughts and hopes which before had been unknown. 
It is rare to find this characteristic among native Ameri- 
cans. The keen, practical character of the people, the stern, 
self-asserting life, the continual struggle in which for years 
all classes have been engaged first in rescuing a land from 
the savagery of nature, then in building up the foundations 
of an empire, its laws, its commerce, every thing, in short, 
which a new people require, had developed the practical 
rather than the esthetical side of their natures. But this 
feeling, if anywhere, is more apt to be found in the Puritan 
element in New England. Its very religion is mystical. 
In no other section did the church itself so soon become 
infused with the social and political “ isms ” of the day. 
Rationalistic Spiritualism had grown apace, and even those 
who would be least suspected, had caught the infection of 
the hour. 

It was easy to see that Sibyl found in music a supposed 
medium, by which her spirit was placed in close communi- 
cation with that of her lover. The Doctor’s delicate health 
and his self-absorption, prevented him from clearly no- 
ticing the growing dreamy state of his child. Not so 


A woman’s estimate. 


263 


with her mother. In all the practical matters of life, Mrs. 
Spencer saw most clearly, and when she saw, she did not 
hesitate to speak. 

Mrs. Spencer found a ready confidant in her old friend, 
Mr. Hamilton. Proud and self-contained man as he was, 
his hopeless love for Sibyl showed itself in his utter ina- 
bility to remain any length of time away from her presence. 
It caused him intense pain to be with her and not show his 
love ; but it caused him still more to keep himself from her 
society. 

The winter had dragged its slow length along, spring 
had come “ to bless the glad ground,” and had merged 
itself into summer. In no part of America is this 
season more lovely than on the rough hillsides of New 
England. 

“ For the Queen of the Spring as she passes down the vale, 
Leaves her robe on the trees, and her breath on the gale.” 

For some days Mrs. Spencer had been on the watch for 
Mr. Hamilton, and he was shown that morning into the 
library, or, as was the fashion of that, day to call it, the 
Doctor’s study. After the formal salutations to which old- 
fashioned people still clung, had been gone through with, 
Mrs. Spencer introduced the subject which, for the mo- 
ment, lay closest to her thoughts. 

“ Ah me ! Mr. Hamilton,” she said at length after a 
long pause — “ ah me ! it is a hard thing to bear unrepin- 
ingly the visitations of a kind Providence. To see the 
husband of your youth slowly fading away like the grass 
w^hich grows up and is cut down like a flower.” 

Mrs. Spencer was famous for* getting her metaphors 


264 


SIBYL SPENCER. 


mixed. Still there was deep, unaffected grief in the old 
lady’s heart, and Mr.Hamilton warmly showed his sympa- 
thy. 

“ But, Mr. Hamilton,” Mrs. Spencer continued, “ it was 
not so much to speak about the Doctor that I got them to 
show you in here, as it was of Sibyl. I am strangely 
alarmed about that child.” 

“ My dear madam,” said the gentleman, at once all at- 
tention, “ you disturb me greatly. What has happened ? 
This long separation from Edward, I suppose ? ” 

“ Of course that is at the bottom of it. You see, Mr. 
Hamilton, she has not been the same girl since that Mrs. 
Quincey came here. I am sure I do not want to say any 
thing about a woman who has had so many trials, passed 
through the furnace like, just as the Doctor used to de- 
scribe those three good men in the book of Daniel. You 
remember the sermon doubtless. The consistory asked to 
have it printed. The hardest trial, Mr. Hamilton, of my 
life, has been to see Jeems wasting his life.” 

“ Yes, my dear madam,” interrupted the gentleman, 
dreading, as did all Mrs. Spencer’s friends, an outbreak on 
so prolific a subject of grievance. “ The Doctor would 
command in any situation, as he does here, the unqualified 
admiration of his friends. But you were saying you 
thought Mrs. Quincey — ” 

“ Ah, yes, the hateful minx ! I hope the Lord will pardon 
me for showing temper, and in my own house too. But 
do you know that somehow I fear Edward may have shown 
a little too much attention to her, and thus have made 
Sibyl unhappy.” 

“ Nonsense, my dear Madam. Edward is a fine, manly, 


A woman’s estimate. 


265 


noble-hearted fellow, who has grown up with Sibyl, and 
whose every thought and aspiration is centred in her. Be- 
sides, my dear madam, you are unkind to this young lady. 
I have watched Mrs. Quincey closely, and I am convinced 
she has no other desire than, what any pretty, attractive 
woman has, to be as charming as she can.” 

“ Oh, that is just the way with all you men,” interrupted 
Mrs. Spencer pettishly. “ A pretty face covers a multi- 
tude of sins. Not that I mean to say any thing bad of 
Lucy, only she can’t see a man and leave him alone.” 

Mr. Hamilton burst out into a hearty laugh. 

“ Am I, my dear Mrs. Spencer, also infected with this 
subtile poison ? ” 

“ Oh, you may laugh,” said Mrs. Spencer, her momen- 
tary anger passed, and joining in his merriment; “but you 
don’t see her as I do. There’s the Doctor, now. He won’t 
have any thing but this Frenchified soup.” 

“ Bouillon,” suggested the other. 

“ Yes ; that is what she calls it. For my part I do not 
believe it is a bit better than good old honest broth, 
there ! and she will sit and laugh and talk with him for 
an hour together, then turn right round and play the 
agreeable to old Deacon Knapp. So that the old fool sits 
and gazes at her for an hour at a time.” 

“ ’Pon my word, Mrs. Spencer, I did not give you credit 
for so much humor. I sincerely trust your observations 
have not stopped here.” 

“ Oh, your turn will come,” said the lady, pleased with 
the compliment. “ After she’s got through with the Dea- 
con she tries her hand at young Griswold, who is always 
coming here to see the Doctor, as he says. But he’s 


266 


SIBYL SPENCER. 


got only one more day’s leave, so he’s safe. Would 
you believe it,” continued the lady, laying her hand 
on Mr. Hamilton’s arm to make the remark more im- 
pressive, “ it was only yesterday I found her singing a 
Scotch song to our Sam. You know the little nigger boy 
who has. taken Eph’s. place to do the odd chores. And 
there he stood grinning with delight until I thought his 
eyes would start out of his head. Now don’t tell me she 
is not a flirt, and to try the Doctor too ! ” 

“ My dear madam,” said Mr. Hamilton, endeavoring 
to restrain the evidences of his amusement, “ do you not 
think you are unnecessarily severe on a very charming 
woman ? You must remember, Mrs. Spencer, the great dif- 
ference there is in the usages of the society in which she 
has moved to ours.” 

“ I don’t think, Mr. Hamilton, that I am unaccustomed 
to the usages of polite society.” 

“ Far be it from me, my dear madam, to insinuate such 
a thing. But you will allow me to remind you how aston- 
ished you were at the description which I was able to give, 
on my return, from the short visit I made to England, of 
the wealth, frivolity and dissipation of their upper classes. 
I, of course, mean those only to whom society is all in 
all.” 

“ Of course, Mr. Hamilton, I make all due allowance. 
I remember well how charming all your descriptions were. 
But I am sure in no society would manners like hers meet 
with general approval.” 

“ I have watched her most attentively,” said the other, 
“ and I can see nothing more than the pretty ways of a 
pretty woman.” 


A woman’s estimate. 


267 


‘‘ Pretty woman ! there it is again,” replied Mrs. Spen- 
cer scornfully. “ You were at Major Baylies’ the other 
evening. Now, the Major comes of a good old Connecti- 
cut family. A family that’s got a right to hold up its head 
as high as any in the Union. It is a great pity, as the 
Doctor says, he should have turned Democrat for the sake 
of the post-office. But that has nothing to do with what I 
was saying. The chit of a girl, for she is but a girl after 
after all, sails into the room, as if it all belonged to her. 
In one moment every man was doing something for her. 
Deacon Knapp, acting like the old fool he is. Young 
Griswold, his eyes starting out of his head, and looking 
as if he had never been in a parlor before. He’s 
been abroad too, and ought to know something of society, 
although he did spend most of his time in a French prison 
while he was there. And you — you, who ought to know 
something of the world — you, who have been a senator, 
and are the leading man of your State — I noticed you 
were excessively attentive in handing her a chair. I ver- 
rily believe if Sam had been there she would have had him 
doing something, and would have smiled upon him just the 
same as she did on the rest of you.” 

Mr. Hamilton got up from his chair and walked to the 
window. It was impossible for him to retain any appear- 
ance of gravity, the picture was so true to nature. Grave, 
severe man of the world as he was, the admired orator, the 
stern statesman, that one evening came back to him. He 
had made one or two remarks to Lucy Quincey, as he 
brought her some refreshment from the dining-room into 
the parlor where she resolutely kept her seat. Well, take 
it as a whole, he trusted she did not remember them. 


268 


SIBYL SPENCER. 


He fervently prayed Mrs. Spencer’s sharp ears had not 
overheard them. He hesitated a moment as he said — 

“ Mrs. Spencer, you were speaking when I first came in 
of Sibyl’s health. Are you seriously alarmed about her ? ” 

“Oh yes, Sibyl. There now, that is just the thing I 
wished to talk to you about, and this chatter about Lucy 
put it out of my head. Seriously alarmed, no, but I do not 
understand the child. She talks in a way that completely 
puts me at my wit’s end.” 

“ How so. Please explain ? ” 

“You know, Mr. Hamilton, Sibyl has always been a 
dreamy character. As a girl, she would walk round as if 
she were in a maze. Then she has studied every thing 
with the Doctor until she is more like a man than a young 
girl. I don’t believe she can make a pudding, and when 
she is married how she is ever, if she goes to live in New 
York, to lay by her winter’s preserves, without me, is a 
mystery. And she’s going to marry a poor man, too. 
Dear me, dear me. It is all very well to read Latin and 
Greek and all that, but you men value a good cook more 
in the long run, I can tell you.” 

“ Yes, yes, my dear madam,” interrupted the other, his 
impatience showing itself, despite his habitual punctilious- 
ness of manner. “ Do come to the point. What is the 
matter with Sibyl ? ” 

Mrs. Spencer stared at him in wonder. In an ac- 
quaintance of thirty years she had never before heard Mr. 
Hamilton’s voice change in its low tone of deference when 
speaking to a woman. 

“ Lor’, Mr. Hamilton, how you start a body. Where 
was I. Oh, Sibyl, more dreamy than ever. Now she’s 


A woman’s estimate. 


269 


always playing on that piano. I love a nice lively tune 
very well myself, and on the evening before the Lord’s 
day, some solemn quiet psalm. That will fit your soul for 
the duties of the sanctuary. This plaguey Lucy has taught 
her a lot of German — what do you call them ? ” 

“ Symphonies.” 

“Yes, symphonies, and then she will sit by the hour, 
drum, drum, drum, then trill, then a little run, then it com- 
mences over again. She says it speaks to her the lessons 
of the heart. Now, I notice that Lucy gets her lessons a 
great deal quicker than Sibyl does. What does it mean, 
Mr. Hamilton ? It’s beyond my poor wits. You ought to 
know — you know every thing.” 

The poor old lady’s eyes filled with tears as she looked 
up imploringly, seeing an evil, but helpless to probe the 
deep, sensitive nature of her child. 

“ My dear Mrs. Spencer, my old friendship for your 
family has made me more than ordinarily attentive to the 
character and mental qualifications of your daughter. 
Sibyl is of an extraordinarily delicate and sensitive organi- 
zation. In being separated from the playmate of her 
childhood, as well as the lover of her youth, her nervous 
system has received a shock. The constant state of ex- 
citement and anxiety, the fearful idea which hovers over 
her, that at any moment hope may be gone for ever, has 
made her brood in silence rather than seek, as many women 
would do.” 

“ I am sure if Sibyl has a hard fate” interrupted 
her mother, “ what have I ! Haven’t I seen her father 
dying before my eyes by inches, as it were ! Don’t I love 
that boy as if he were my own son ! Have I missed one 


270 


SIBYL SPENCER. 


of my duties ! Does not the house go on just as it used 
to ! Is not there enough to eat ! And is not my heart on 
the point of breaking ! 

Sobs choked her voice. No one felt more acutely for 
another than Mr. Hamilton did for his old friend. But 
there was something indescribably ridiculous in this ming- 
ling of shrewdness and simplicity, strong common sense 
and the little jealousies of a woman. 

“ My dear madam,” he said, taking her hand kindly, 
“ cheer up. The Doctor now seems as if he had taken a 
new lease of life, and as for — as for — Sibyl, change of 
scene and air is what she requires' I will try and see if 
I cannot induce these two girls to make a little trip with 
me. You won’t be afraid to trust them under my charge 
for a day or two ? ” 

“ Oh, Mr. Hamilton ! why should we. You who feel 
like a father towards our girl.” She stopped suddenly. 
The remembrance of the hopes she had formed, the one 
vision of her daughter’s life she had pictured. Deeply 
anxious not to wound, she only made things worse by 
stammering out — 

“ I mean you who are old enough to be her father, you 
know.” 

Again she checked herself. Mr. Hamilton’s face had 
flushed deeply. He turned away for a moment. It was 
but a moment. When he spoke his voice was, if any thing, 
more gentle, more soft than usual. Mrs. Spencer’s quick 
ear distinguished the deep sadness which the accomplished 
gentleman sought to hide, true to the faith which was in 
him. 

“ Mrs. Spencer, the human heart is an anomaly which 


A WOMAN S ESTIMATE, 


271 


defies the inspection of the profoundest philosophers. 
Two years since, led away by a passion I could not re- 
strain, I spoke words of love — in short I offered my heart 
and hand to Sibyl.” 

“ Oh, Mr. Hamilton, I never knew, I never thought — • 
Sibyl never said — ” 

“ Naturally, my dear madam. To such a character, 
so perfect, so pure, the idea of giving pain is simply im- 
possible. When in the kindest, most loving way she show- 
ed me I never could be any thing to her but her father’s 
dearest, oldest friend, I asked that place, and as God is 
my judge, Arthur Hamilton will be true to his plighted 
word. 



CHAPTER XXV. 

UNDER THE ELMS. 

“ Pray heaven for a human heart, 

And let the foolish yeoman go.” 

Tennyson. 

R. HAMILTON had seen, while standing by the 
window, the two persons who had formed the 
subject of their conversation. The old elm 
trees, which fringed the church-yard, threw a 
:h, even in the hottest noonday, made this side 
of the house attractive. Mr. Hamilton recalled how, even 
as a child, Sibyl had loved to make this spot her play- 
ground. To her the presence of the tombstones, marking 
as they did the spot “ where the rude forefathers of the 
hamlet slept,” had no terrors. 

As he stood and watched her from the open window, 
he was struck with the change which a year had wrought. 
Her form had lost its roundness. Graceful she always would 
be, but there was an air of languor in her movements, and 
her face had no longer the fresh look of health and youth. 
With a sigh of pain Mr. Hamilton turned from the window, 
determined to join the two women. As he came near he 
was still more struck with the change in Sibyl’s appearance. 

(272) 



UNDER THE ELMS. 


273 


Her large, soft eyes were dreamy in their expression, her 
face was pale and drawn, and on either cheek was a small 
bright red spot. Ah, how well he knew the sign ! The 
curse of New England, consumption, had seized her for its 
prey. 

Softly, and with the gentle manner which in its utter 
absence of coquetting made it irresistible, she held out her 
hand. The strong man actually shuddered as he noticed 
the transparency of the slender fingers which for a moment 
lay passive in his grasp. Forcing himself to put on an 
air of half gallantry, which for the moment sat unaturally 
on him, he said — 

“ I am come as an ambassador, or rather I should per- 
haps say, as a suppliant, to solicit a boon from the ladies 
of my love.” 

Lucy Quincey’s merry laugh rang out clear as a bird’s, 
as throwing back her head with a mock heroic air, she 
asked — 

“ Offer a divided allegiance. ‘ Under which king, Ben- 
zoin. Speak or die. ’ ” 

Mr. Hamilton stole a look at Sibyl. Her face had 
brightened a little at the merry laugh and mimic action of 
her friend. Her eye met his, quietly, kindly as of old, but 
there was no spark of coquetry there. He was her father’s 
friend and her own. What would he not have given to 
have seen but the faintest shade cross that pale soft cheek 
at the gay badinage of her friend. 

“ Age has but few privileges, my dear young lady,” he 
answered, resuming the calm courtly manner which sat so 
well on him. “ But among the few it possesses, the one I 
most highly value is the right to love respectfully every 

18 


SIBYL SPENCER. 


274 

young woman, particularly when it is united,” and he held 
out his hand to Sibyl, “ with almost the claim of a father.” 

Lucy did not answer. Her face flushed a little, and 
she shot one glance under the long lashes which fringed her 
eyes. It was a look at which many a man would have 
thrilled. 

Arthur Hamilton was mortal. For one short moment 
he had forgotten his fifty odd years, his well-earned honors, 
his proud position. The nameless spell a woman weaves, 
the sorcery of her presence, the subtile intoxication which 
the very air we breathe with her carries with it, had swept 
away the barriers and made him forget himself. It was 
only for a moment. The glance passed harmless by, and 
Lucy felt that now, at least, her power was gone. She 
colored still more, and with rather an embarrassed air, 
said — 

“ As we both belong to the Reformed, or I should say, 
Protesting faith, Mr. Hamilton, your fatherly feelings can 
have nothing to do with our woman secrets. What then 
is this boon you crave ? ” 

“ Simply this. Sibyl, for two years or more, has been 
shut up in this little country town. I have proposed to her 
mother, now that her father has so far recovered as to be 
safely trusted to Mrs. Spencer’s nursing alone, that you 
two ladies should pay me a visit of a week or more in New 
Haven. There is but little to offer in the way of gayety, 
but it will be a change, and perhaps bring back the bright 
look your face used to wear, Sibyl.” 

“ You are very kind, Mr. Hamilton. A change will 
amuse Lucy, even if it be to so provincial a town as New 
Haven. As for me, I do not feel as I formerly did. There 


UNDER THE ELMS. 


275 


is a load here — she placed her hand on her heart as she 
spoke — which I cannot shake off. Perhaps a change may 
break the spell.” 

The arrangements for the little trip were soon made, 
and as they turned to enter the house they met Deacon 
Knapp coming out of the door There was an embarrassed, 
and at the same time an almost dogged look on his rugged 
features, which struck Mrs. Quincey forcibly. He was 
dressed with unusual care, and it was evident he had made 
up his mind to take a decided stand on some subject which 
had troubled him deeply. 

Lucy colored violently as she saw the deacon, caused 
as much by the slight smile which ran over the features of 
both her companions. It was not in her nature, however, 
to resist an appeal to sentiment, even when it came in the 
person of a rough, middle-aged New England farmer. Her 
eyelids dropped a little and her face took on the soft air 
peculiar to her, as she held out her hand and wished the 
old man good morning. 

“ Morning marm. Your sarvant, Mr. Hamilton. Sibyl, 
child, you looked peaked this morning. I have got 
no news for you to-day. This ain’t post day, you re- 
member.” 

“ You are ever welcome. Deacon, as you know. Doubly 
so, when kindness to the sick and suffering only prompts 
your visits. Have you seen my father yet ? ” 

“ I ain’t going to take credit to myself when credit 
ain’t disarved, Sibyl. It wasn’t to see the Doctor, nor you, 
nor even your mar, what brought me here this morning.” 

He paused, holding the hand which Lucy had extended 
firmly in his grasp. Mr. Hamilton, feeling keenly the em- 


276 


SIBYL SPENCER. 


barrassment of the situation, moved carelessly from the 
group and entered the house. The Deacon looked after 
him in silence until his form had disappeared, and then 
said — 

“ I have fit agin this feeling, Sibyl, until I can fight no 
longer. I want to ask this lady a plain question, to which 
I hope she’ll give as plain an answer. There is no better 
time than the present. Might I ask the favor of your 
leaving us a spell } ” 

There was nothing for Sibyl to do but to assent. Dis- 
regarding Lucy’s pleading look and muttered objection, 
Sibyl in her turn followed Mr. Hamilton into the house. 
The two stood alone in the bright, clear sunshine. 

Lucy by this time had disengaged her hand, and draw- 
ing somewhat back, made a motion as if to shield her eyes 
from the sun, saying — 

“ Oh, Mr. Knapp, why are you so stern to me. Why 
do you speak to me in such a tone and before such a man 
as Mr. Hamilton.” 

She was ready to fly at once to a woman’s never- 
failing resource, tears ; she had gone too far, and, keenly 
alive to the blame of others, she shrank under the slight 
sarcastic smile which she saw curl the lip of Mr. Hamil- 
ton as he left them. 

“ It is of no use,” said the Deacon, dropping the vul- 
garity which generally pervaded his speech, and speaking 
in strong, manly English, although still with the accent 
peculiar to New England. “ It is of no use, Mrs. Quincey, 
trying to fight against destiny. Will you seat yourself on 
this bench. My say will soon be said.” 

There was no escape, and Lucy almost sank on the 


UNDER THE ELMS. 


277 


bench under the big elm tree, bitterly regretting the silly 
vanity which had made her play with the rough, strong 
nature of the man who stood before her. 

“ Mrs. Quincey, ma’am. You have been living amongst 
us going on now five months and better. You came down 
here in distress and affliction. The story which came 
with you, said you had been an injured and persecuted 
woman ; that you were alone in the world ; that you had 
to fight, and strain, and toil for the bread you needed to 
sustain life. And you told me the last time you and I 
talked together that you never expected, even in your 
dreams, to cross the ocean again, but that this land was to 
be your land and this people your people as long as you 
lived. Am I right so far ? ” 

Lucy fairly gasped as she uttered the one word “Yes.” 
What was she to do ! What strange power was the rough 
old country farmer about to exercise over her ! 

‘‘ Then I have come to ask you in plain words to be 
my wife.” 

“ Mr. Knapp, oh no, that cannot be. Not such a woman 
as I am.” 

“ Stop marm. Hear me through and then you can give 
me you my answer. I am a plain country farmer I know. 
I am sixty-three years old come next September, and I am 
well off in this world’s goods. My first wife has been dead 
these twenty years, and it’s the thought of her that’s kept 
me back from saying these words for many a day. Still, 
nature has been too strong for me, and now they are 
spoken.” 

“ Please, please, Mr. Knapp,” said Lucy interrupting 
him, “ do not say any thing more. You certainly do not 


278 


SIBYL SPENCER. 


want to wound and pain me. Surely, surely I do not de- 
serve this at your hands.” 

Her coquetry was all gone now ; bitterly mortified, 
her eyes full of real tears, she extended her hands in sup- 
plication towards the stern old man, who stood almost as 
a judge before her. 

“ I know it — I know it ! There is no fool, as Hamilton 
said one day, like an old fool. Pain you. Well I’m not sartin 
that a little pain would not do you good. Sally, my darter, 
said this morning when we talked this over, that although 
I had every right to seek my happiness in my own way, so 
long as they were Christian ways, that I was running to 
destruction. She had read you, and so had I for that mat- 
ter. But I was blinded, dazed like, by what I had never 
seen before.” 

Lucy strove to rise from the bench on which she sat. 
Her eyes were now sparkling with anger,but the old Deacon, 
whose strong character had broken through all ordinary 
restraint, placed his'hand on her shoulder and absolutely 
forced her to resume her seat. 

“Sir,” said Lucy, now frightened as well as angry, “do 
you mean to hurt me ? ” 

“ Hurt you,” said the grim old Puritan, looking down 
on her, “ no ; we don’t hurt women in this land, not as yet. 
You have given me a right to speak and speak I am going 
to, if it be but to testify to my own shame.” 

“ Surely, Mr. Knapp, there can be no necessity for this 
violence of feeling. No person need ever know what has 
occurred. We can still be friends. I am so poor in friends.” 
She had extended her hand as she spoke, and her eyes 
shone with something of the old light. 


UNDER THE ELMS. 


279 

The eyes of the man hardened as he met the look. 

“If I have done wrong, Mr. Knapp ; if my foolish 
manner has led your to believe — ^you will forgive me and 
let me be to you as a — ” 

“ No, you shall be nothing to me,” broke in the old 
man. “ Secret — the world can know it all. Perhaps it 
may save some other jackass from suffering as I suffer 
now. Look at this — I tell you all now.” He pulled out 
of his breast a withered flower and held it towards her as he 
went on, “ Four days ago you had this posy in your hair. 
You gave a flower to that young minister who has taken 
the Doctor’s place, since he’s been took ill. You gave it 
to him from the bunch in your hand. But for me, you 
took the one in your hair. You gave it with a look — such 
a look, marm, as a woman ought not to give but to one 
man. Do you remember the scene ? ” 

Lucy was completely cowed. Never before had any 
flirtation resulted in more than momentary pain. She 
could only sit and gaze at this strange man. 

“ How my hand trembled as it touched yours, and how 
I clenched it strongly lest some one should rob me of my 
treasure. Old idiot that I was, I absolutely kissed that 
flower when I was alone. I, who for twenty years had 
never felt my blood thrill at a woman’s look, felt a cold 
shiver run through me as I met that look of yours. Poor 
little flower. Pshaw ! ” And the Deacon threw the rose 
bud on the ground and stamped on it with his heel. 
“ There madam, your sarvant, I have said my say.” 

Deacon Knapp turned without a word more and walked 
firmly to the garden gate. Without looking to the right hand 
or to the left, he walked slowly down the street. It 


28 o 


SIBYL SPENCER. 


was almost noon, and few of the inhabitants were to be 
seen. It was a relief that he was alone. He was ashamed 
at his violence, and dreaded the explanation which must 
come when he met his daughter. He had broken the chain 
which had bound him. The old feeling of love of reverence 
for her that was gone was creeping back into his heart. 
He thought of the empty chair. Would he have been con- 
tent another should fill it. She was sleeping now within 
a hundred feet of where he had asked that stranger — about 
whom he absolutely knew nothing, a mere girl compared 
to him in years, younger than his own daughter — to be his 
wife. He stood still to stamp his foot in impotent rage 
at his own folly. Then there came back to him the mem- 
ory of an hour. It seemed almost yesterday in its vivid- 
ness. By heavens ! the scene had taken place on the very 
spot where he had left that woman seated. It was a com- 
mon enough occurrence. A blue-eyed, fair haired Con- 
necticut girl, with rosy cheeks and teeth like pearl. She 
was leaning against that very elm tree. How the tree had 
grown since then. She was pulling the petals from a daisy. 
How sweet her voice was ! “ One I love, two I love, three 

I love, I say.” What nonsense boys and girls talk, when 
looked at by the experience of age and wordly wisdom. 
Had he not ground to powder under his heel another 
flower, given by another woman. His cheeks burned like 
fire. How hot the day was ! 

Sally sat there in the kitchen window sewing on 
some of those everlasting things that babies wear. The 
little fellow kicking up his heels and showing his chubby 
little red legs as he lay on his back on the old sheepskin 
on the sanded floor. 


UNDER THE ELMS. 


281 


The deacon had hung his hat in the passage-way. He 
glanced round the room and saw he was alone with his 
child. He dragged a chair close up to her and said — 

“ Sally, you can call your old daddy a fool if you mind 
to, and he’ll take it kindly.” 

The woman glanced at him. She saw it all. She need- 
ed no explanation. Softly she put her hand in his — the 
action spoke more than words. 

“ Sally, I used in my conceit to reckon myself a leader 
in Israel. I called myself one of the elect. I was as 
srtrong as Samson, yet I found a Delilah. But, Sally, she 
came back to me. Your mother, I mean, girl, as I was walk- 
ing out there in the glare of the hot sunshine. I saw her ; 
she looked as fresh and younger, girl, than you do now. I 
have sinned, Sally, in that I went after a strange woman 
from a strange land, and I left the wife of my youth, the 
mother of my children, for a girl who laughed at and despised 
me. Sarves me right. You are mistress here, girl, until I 
die.” 

He got up and walked to the door, then turning a 
sheepish, penitent look on his daughter, said — 

“ I am going to put the picture back over my bed. I 
took it down yesterday. It was only one night. She will 
forgive it, won’t she ? She was just like you.” 

The daughter could only nod through her tears. 

From that day to the day of his death the subject was 
never again mentioned between them. 



CHAPTER XXVI. 


THE VISION. 

“ of Nature’s laws 
So strong I held the force. 

That never superhuman cause , 

Could e’er control their course.” 

Scott. 

UCY QUINCE Y crept rather than walked into 
the house. She had never before been subjected 
to such an ordeal. The victims of her leisure 
hours had heretofore condoned her offences 
with at least smiling faces. The wounds she had inflicted 
may have remained green and sore for years. She had 
not felt them, and she carelessly turned to new conquests. 
But on this occasion it was widely different. A rough, 
rude, but eminently masculine character had been played 
with, courted, had been tempted by a thousand little arts 
to break through the habits of a life, to forget the past, to 
breathe only the intoxication of the present. 

Lucy for the moment absolutely trembled at the con- 
sequence of her folly. The usual excuse of a headache, left 
her untroubled in her own room during the remainder of 
the day. When she joined the family in the evening she 
fondly hoped it had been forgotten. She certainly tried to 
forget her share in the transaction. 

Dr. Spencer, whose illness had thrown him back into 
himself, compelling him to abandon study and to depend 

(282) 




THE VISION. 


283 


more upon the society of his family and friends for his 
pleasures, was seated near the open window, his thin hand 
resting lovingly on Sibyl’s curls. She had drawn a foot- 
stool close to his side, and was lightlyresting her head on 
his knee. Mrs. Spencer and Mr. Hamilton made up the 
little party. 

Lucy glided into the room. Her advent was unnoticed 
by any of them except by the Doctor, who smiled on her 
as kindly as usual. 

The conversation had been kept up principally by the 
two men, and had turned on the essential principle of the 
soul, as stated by Swedenborg. 

“ There is no new creed, Mr. Hamilton,” said the old 
clergyman. “The questions as, to the immortality of the 
soul have differed but slightly since the days of Plato. 
The appearance of new prophets, men who claim to be 
gifted with supernatural powers, to read and foretell fate, to 
gaze into the depths of the starry heavens, and draw lessons 
from the ‘ planets in their turn,’ is as old as when the 
stern old prophet of Israel slew the priests of Baal on 
Mount Carmel in the wilderness.” 

“ But, Doctor Spencer, does not the unaffected purity of 
Swedenborg, his gentleness of disposition, the shrinking and 
retiring nature of his character, relieve him in your mind 
from the accusation of imposture ?” 

“ I do not think any one who studies that singular man’s 
life can fail to be fascinated by the qualities you have men- 
tioned. Mr. Hamilton, his was a nature which feeds on itself. 
Left alone by the very depth and character of his studies, 
poetic, enthusiastic, he dreamed dreams, and thought 
them realities. His teachings were all for good. His 


SIBYL SPENCER. 


284 

prophecies have disturbed the imagination and unsettled 
the belief of hundreds.” 

“ Do you not believe, father, that there may be some 
subtle instinct, some unknown sense, which may bring us 
into close companionship with those we love, even if ab- 
sent from us ? ” 

‘‘ Sibyl means,” said her mother, just what I have felt 
since you have been sick. I would be down stairs, and the 
time would come for your soup (I never can remember 
that plaguey French word), and I would find that I was 
thinking of you without knowing it ! ” 

“ Love, my dear,” said the old gentleman, with a soft 
smile, as he gently pressed the still plump hand which 
had sought his, “ works miracles. No, Sibyl, I do not be- 
lieve in what you ask.” 

“ Are there not an hundred instances. Doctor Spencer, 
on record,” asked his friend, in which strange warnings 
and mysterious appearances have been seen and felt by 
persons separated by thousands of miles from the subject 
of these apparitions ? ” 

“What actual testimony is there,” replied the other 
warming with his subject — “ testimony which will stand the 
the test of scientific criticism — of the truth of these state- 
ments. A man dies, in farther India if you will, a vio- 
lent death, to make the case a strong one. The event be- 
comes known to his family, and then steps forward some 
would-be soothsayer, who, on the night or day in question, 
has seen enacted, in his mind’s eye, the scene in all its 
horrors.” 

“ Why, father, must the person speak falsely ? Why not 
believe as well in the truth as in the falsity of human na- 


THE VISION. 285 

ture ? How can any testimony be brought to show that a 
man does not see a vision, or dream a dream ? ’’ 

“ Dreams, my child, are but the overflow of a heated 
imagination. In most instances of mental impressions, 
which have been carefully studied, it has been found that 
the victim suffered or died in the southern hemisphere, 
so that the would-be prophet, forgetting the difference of 
time, that what is night to us is day to them, locates the 
event twelve hours before or after its actual occurrence.” 

“Unless we could realize ‘ Puck’s ’ boast and put a 
girdle round the earth in forty minutes,” said Mr. Hamil- 
ton, anxious to give the conversation a different turn, see- 
ing the effect on Sibyl in her nervous and excited state of 
mind. 

“ Why should we not — why should we not, I say ? ” ex- 
claimed the Doctor, oblivious to every thing but his in- 
terest in the conversation. “ Do we not draw from the 
heavens the lightnings at our pleasure, and have we not 
harnessed steam as with a bridle ? Who dare place a lim- 
it to man’s intelligence, when we know he is formed in the 
image of his maker ! ” 

“Then, father, it may not be vain, perhaps, to imagine 
that round us hover the spirits of those who cheered and 
loved us here on earth, that they surround us in our wak- 
ing moments, and guard and shield us in the dark watches 
of the night. That they will be the first to welcome us to 
the realms of bliss.” There was a nervous excitement 
in her manner, and a wildness in her eye which startled 
even the unobservant old man. He laid his hand softly 
on her head. 

“ Ah, Sibyl, my darling child, who dare speculate on 


286 


SIBYL SPENCER. 


what He has kept concealed ! Clouds and darkness are 
round about him, righteousness and judgment are the 
habitation of his throne. It is a fond, and I trust not a 
foolish conceit, to hope that we may be allowed to wel- 
come into the mystical body of his elect, those whom we 
have loved and travelled with here on earth. But what 
can poor, human nature know of the mysteries of which we 
have been speaking ! There has been but one foot which 
has ever retrod the dark valley — our Example and our 
Guide. Let us try so to live here on earth, that when our 
turn comes, as come it soon will, to every child of man, 
we may fear no evil, for his rod and his staff they succor us.’^ 

“ Come, Mrs. Quincey, do play something for us,” said 
Mr. Hamilton. “ This conversation has become too mel- 
ancholy. Let me hand you to the piano.” 

“Yes, Lucy, a nice quiet psalm would do good to our 
spirits. But that won’t put my old man to bed. Come, 
Doctor, you are up too late, we will leave the young peo- 
ple to themselves.” 

Mrs. Spencer carried off the Doctor. Sibyl kissed her 
father who lingered lovingly by her for a few minutes. 
There was one thing, however, in which Mrs. Spencer 
brooked no interference, and that was the loving care she 
directed to her husband. Sibyl sat down by the window in 
the chair her father had occupied, and resting her cheek on 
her hand, looked dreamily into the starry heavens. The 
soft July moon, almost at its full, cast its light on the old 
trees, the little church, and brought into relief the quaint 
slabs in the old graveyard. The village was sunk into 
the deepest repose, there was nothing to break the still- 
ness of the hour, save at long intervals the faint cry of the 


THE VISION. 


287 


whip-poor-will, far off in the meadow by the brook. Sibyl 
heard nothing, saw nothing. “ Her eyes were with her 
heart, and that was far away.” Lucy had changed the 
rather brilliant piece she had been playing for one better 
suited to the scene and hour. It was a mild, plaintive air, 
almost eastern in its character. She possessed the rare 
gift of being able to play and talk at the same time. She 
was a wonderful musician, although it was art, rather than 
nature, that made her so. Mr. Hamilton had taken a chair 
close by the piano, and was looking at Sibyl’s clear cut 
profile as it was brought out in the moonlight. He was 
not aware of his abstraction until he was startled by the 
young Englishwoman’s saying in a low tone, which almost 
mingled with the notes she was playing, 

“ I have so wished so speak to you this evening, Mr. 
Hamilton. What must you think of me, after what you 
saw to-day ? ” 

“That you are somewhat reckless in the exercise of 
a power which most men, and especially elderly men, find 
irresistible, Mrs. Quincey.” 

The melody floated softly on the air, perhaps a thrill of 
triumph escaped the finger-tips of the fair performer. 

“ You do not think, Mr. Hamilton, I was obliged to 
accept a man in his position in life, simply because he 
asked me, do you 1 ” 

“Certainly not, my dear madam. I am a strong re- 
publican and an equally strong American, but in my wild- 
est dreams I never thought a middle-aged Yankee farmer 
a fit match for an English beauty.” 

“ Then why do you blame me ? ” she asked, after a 
momentary pause. 


288 


SIBYL SPENCER. 


“ Blame you ? ” he said, “ surely I did not commence 
this conversation. Qui s’excuse s’accuse. Even my lim- 
ited knowledge of the world has taught me that.” 

“You have no thought, nor look, nor dream uncon- 
nected with that beautiful statue, sitting by the window 
there. Hush ! do not answer,” she continued, hastily, for 
even in the moonlight she could see the rising color. “I 
had a letter this morning, and such a letter. I want help, 
advice, and above all, a friend. Won’t you be my friend, 
Mr. Hamilton ? ” The accent was perfectly irresistible. 
Confound the woman, what was there about her which 
fascinated you so ? He had read her perfectly. Her su- 
perficial, changeable nature. The utter impossibility of 
any deep or lasting feeling, and yet it only required an in- 
flection of the voice, an appeal to his superiority, and it 
was a favor to be allowed to serve her — whether it was 
the holding of a fan or the sacrifice of half one’s fortune. 

Lucy’s quick wit took it all in, and she continued with- 
out waiting for an answer. 

“ I have told Sibyl my sad story, so of course you 
know it well. This morning brought me a letter from 
Charles, Mr. Harcourt, I mean. He is about to return to 

England. His uncle is dead. He is now Earl of . 

He wishes me to join him at Montreal and return as his 
wife ! Can I ? ” 

“ Can you go ? What a question ! You do not sup- 
pose, my dear Mrs. Quincey, w’e are sunk so low as to 
make war on women ? Let me assure you at once, you are 
as free as air ? ” 

“ I did not mean that there were fetters o my wrists,” 
she answered, with a low musical laugh, “however the 


THE VISION. 


289 


heart may be bound. In my sorrow, in my widowhood, 
you all were my friends. I was in sorrow and they minis- 
tered unto me, to use the quaint language which is so 
much in vogue here. Seriously can you not imagine the 
heart rests lovingly in that spot in 'which alone rest has 
been found. And how will Charles feel for me after the 
vagabond life I have led ? I have tortured myself with 
this question night and day.” 

“ Permit me, my dear Mrs. Quincey.’ You began this 
conversation. Mr. Harcourt was — how shall I express it 
— your earliest love. Was he not 1 ” 

No answer could have been given, with a more infan- 
tile air, with more charming simplicity, than the one which 
dropped, as it were, from Lucy’s lips. 

“ Oh, dear, yes ; we always looked on each other just as 
man and wife, until the death of his elder brother. Then, 
you know, all was changed. They wanted him to marry 
among his degree. You understand ? ” 

“ ’Pon my word I do not,” replied the other. ‘‘ If I 
catch the drift of your remarks you were affianced with the 
consent of his family. Certainly they were not base 
enough to break that engagement, simply because he be- 
came the presumptive heir to an earldom.” 

“ That is exactly just what I mean,” said she, changing 
the light tone as she did the music she was playing to one 
of deep, serious earnest. “When Charles was nothing 
but a younger son’s younger son, poor Lucy Bradford was 
a match good enough for him. But when he became a 
peer ‘ in futr"o,’ she was no longer more than the dust un- 
der their fee* ” " 

There was a deep, passionate utterance in the last sen- 

19 


290 


SIBYL SPENCER. 


tence, which he had never heard. Before Mr. Hamilton 
could speak she went on. 

“ When we met last winter the old power came over 
me again — of his presence I mean. Under a soft and 
gentle manner Charles has an iron will. With him I am 
powerless — away from him, I sometimes tremble at the 
future. For five months not one line has Charles sent me, 
not one question asked, nor one effort made to find out 
the fate of the woman who would have given up fame and 
name for him. For the woman who knelt at the feet of 
that General of yours to beg his life.” 

Mr. Hamilton felt very uncomfortably as this woman 
went on. What had he to do with her love passages ! Yet 
she was rarely beautiful. The full yet graceful figure ; 
the large, soft dark eyes ; the mouth perhaps a trifle too 
rich in its coloring. He glanced towards the window. 
Sibyl sat motionless as a statue, looking ghastly white as 
the moonlight fell upon her. Lucy saw the direction of 
his eyes. The words she uttered hardly reached his ears, 
so softly were they spoken. The melody seemed to float 
around him. 

“With Charles’s letter there is a pass from General 
Brown. The moment is come, Mr. Hamilton, when my 
fate is to be sealed. Since I have been here I have felt 
like a different woman. I could make a man very happy, 
if I respected as well as loved him.” 

What did she mean, this siren, with her low replies, 
wflth her music sweeter than the harp of Orpheus. She 
could not mean she loved him. He a man twenty-five 
years her senior. Yet why should he not possess all this 
beauty, all these accomplishments ! Why should he not fill 


THE VISION. 


291 


hfs heart and his home ! Was it because one young girl 
had felt for him no passion ! Was it because the love of 
years had struck no responsive chord in her breast, that 
another might not ? 

It was almost timidly he stole a look at Lucy. There 
was a blush just creeping over the velvet cheek, the long 
lashes veiled the glance in which, by heavens ! he read the 
mocking. He too, had been made a fool of. How well 
he remembered the feeling of bitter contempt with which 
he had met poor old Knapp as he came into the garden 
that very morning ! 

“ Forgive me, Mrs. Quincey, if for one moment — ” 

“ Not another word, Mr. Hamilton. ‘ Qui s’excuse 
s’accuse,’ I may trust to your friendship,” she laid, partic- 
ular emphasis on the last word, “ to provide me an escort 
of some kind to the frontier.” She had risen from the 
piano as she spoke, and her air and manner had in it all 
the haughtiness of a woman of the world. 

Mr. Hamilton choked down the bitter word which rose 
to his lips, and as with a courteous bow he was about 
answering her, he was startled by hearing Lucy utter an 
exclamation of horror and seeing her run to Sibyl’s side. 
The girl had half raised herself in her chair, one hand was 
pressed against her forehead, while the other was appar- 
ently waving away an object which seemed to rise before 
her in the moonlight. Her eyes were dilated, her whole 
form was fixed and rigid except that the chattering of her 
teeth could be distinctly heard. Lucy had passed her 
arm round Sibyl’s slight form and drew her to her breast, 
as tenderly as a mother would a frightened child. 

“ Sibyl, my darling, my sister, what is it ? , In mercy 
tell us ! 


292 


SIBYL SPENCER. 


Mr. Hamilton could only stand still and look on in 
speechless horror. The scene had lasted hardly twenty 
seconds, when with a loud cry Sibyl buried her face in her 
hands with a bitter, moaning sound. “ I saw him fall ! 
He is dead ! he is dead ! ” Like some wounded bird, the 
girl sank slowly down, her moans grew softer and softer 
— the poor child had fainted. 



CHAPTER XXVII. 
lundy’s lane. 

“ And leaving in battle no blot on his name, 

Look proudly to Heaven from the death-bed of fame.” 

Campbell. 

ENERAL BROWN determined to make the 
war an offensive one, and on the third day of 
July, suddenly threw a division of his army 
across the Niagara river to the Canadian shore. 
Fort Erie, one of the strongest British posts, fell almost 
without a shot. Although of the greatest advantage to 
the Americans, it was but the opening of the campaign. 

General Riall, the English commander, reinforced by 
some of the best veteran troops drawn from Wellington’s 
peninsular army, pressed forward, to either recapture the 
position, or drive the American army out of the province. 
After some days spent in manoeuvring, they met and fought 
the battle of Chippewa; for the numbers engaged, the 
most sanguinary on record — each side claimed the victory 
— each with equal truth. 

The forces engaged were few in numbers, but very 
equally matched, both in character and morale. On either 
side they consisted of about 3,500 regulars, rather more 
than that number of militia, and six or seven hundred In- 

(293) 





294 SIBYL SPENCER. 

dians, and the reinforcements each received made them 
numerically equal. Several slight engagements had taken 
place, with about equal advantage, and on the afternoon 
of the 25th of July General Brown encamped his force al- 
most within the circle of mist which arose from the Niagara 
Falls. 

The encampment had hardly been formed, when a 
courier brought to the General the intelligence that the 
enemy, in some strength, had crossed Niagara river to 
the American side, and were threatening his depot of 
supplies at the little village of Schlosser. 

Instantly on receiving this advice. General Brown or- 
dered the First Brigade, under General Scott, to advance 
down the river and threaten the enemy’s communications 
and his posts on that line. This movement was com- 
menced about five o’clock in the afternoon. The brigade 
was set in motion and had advanced but a short distance, 
when sharp firing commenced, which soon became heavy 
and general, showing the British to be in strong force. 

“ Ride forward. Colonel Mason,” said General Brown, 
“ and see what that means. Tell Scott, if the enemy are 
in force, to hold his men well together, but to press them 
strongly. I will advance as soon as practicable with the 
main body. Thee must not wait to do any fighting on 
thy own account ; but bring me the best intelligence.” 

The evening had closed in darkly ; the sky was covered 
with fleecy clouds, through which the stars as yet shone 
dimly. Edward rode as fast as the nature of the ground 
and the darkness permitted. In a few minutes he came 
upon two or three wounded men, making their way slowly 
to the rear. Led by the sound of rapid firing, he soon 


Lundy’s lane. 


295 


came on the rear of the brigade, drawn up in open order, 
and briskly engaged with a considerable force, who occu- 
pied the side of a gentle hill, the summit of which was 
crowned by a battery. 

The . darkness of evening was lit up at short intervals 
by the flash of the artillery, and Edward could hear the 
sing of the shot, followed by the cracking of branches, as 
they tore their way through the little wood, on the edge of 
which the Eirst Brigade was posted. 

After giving his orders and obtaining all the informa- 
tion in his power, Edward turned to rejoin the General. 
The moon, almost at the full, had risen over tlie highlands 
on the east side of the river, and objects were brought 
more and more clearly into relief as he rode forward. 

The noise his horse made in blundering through one of 
the snake fences, as common in Canada as in New York, 
caused a small party of horsemen to pause suddenly, and, 
while still endeavoring to recover his seat in the saddle, 
Edward stopped by the side of the General. 

The General broke into a hearty laugh at the unwarlike 
advance of his favorite aid, and turning a little off the road 
at the gap made by Mason, heard him in silence until his 
report was finished. He then gave some quick orders to 
the two or three young officers who attended on him, which 
they rode rapidly away to fulfil. 

Left alone with Edward, the General sat motionless on 
his horse, the reins falling carelessly on the animal’s neck. 
The Second Brigade filed past on the road to take the po- 
sition assigned to them. 

Suddenly the General said, without turning his head, 
his eyes still fixed on the Eastern sky : 


296 


SIBYL SPENCER. 


“ They will say Riall caught us napping, Mason. I 
think he has had heavy reinforcements. Look! — look, 
Edward, look, my boy ! — how lovely, how exquisite ! ” 

Following the direction of the General’s extended hand, 
Edward saw, spanning the entire falls, from the American 
to the Canadian shore, the beautiful outline of the lunar 
rainbow — each prismatic color faintly but exquisitely 
painted in the clouds of mist. 

The heavy firing seemed for the moment to die away, 
and they could distinguish the roar of the mighty river, as 
with “icy current and compulsive course” it thundered 
down the abyss. As they looked the colors grew fainter 
and fainter, and as they died away the general said : 

“ God’s harbinger of peace to man. Who knows, Ed- 
ward, it may be but the gilded halo round the soldier’s 
grave ? ” 

He had advanced while speaking and joined the officer 
commanding the column of militia and volunteers, which 
had at length moved forward. Impressing his orders on 
this gentleman by voice and gesture. General Brown turned 
his horse and dashed after the Second Brigade at a speed 
which soon distanced the inferior animal on which Edward 
was mounted. 

Of the remainder of that battle Edward remembered 
but little. It seemed to him as if it were but one continu- 
ous flash, rattle, and roar of artillery and small arms. He 
^*iw the British general brought in wounded and a prisoner. 
He heard the few courteous words which passed between 
the two leaders, and saw him taken to the rear under a 
guard ; then a message was given him to deliver, and it 
was an hour before he returned. He found standing by 


lundy’s lane. 


297 


General Brown’s side, when he came back, a stern, sol- 
dierly man, whom he recognized as the colonel of the 21st 
Regulars, and heard General Brown say: 

“ Miller, can you take that battery ? ” 

“I’ll try,” was the calm, quiet answer. 

“ Do so, then ; I must have it at any price. Mason, 
head that column with Colonel Miller. Forward, sir,” and 
the General’s voice shook a little as he said the last word, 
“ farewell.” 

The moon at this instant broke out through the floating 
clouds, and tipped each bayonet and accoutrement of the 
soldier with silver, as the 21st Regulars, now reduced to 
barely three hundred, silently, elbow to elbow, as if on 
parade, advanced up the sloping meadow, which was 
crowned by that terrible battery. 

They had advanced to within fifty yards, when Colonel 
Miller’s voice rang out clear and full : “ Charge bayonets ! 
Forward, double quick ! ”, The rest of the words were lost 
in the roar of the cannon, as Edward, throwing his arms 
wildly over his head, horse and man went blindly down. 
The men swept over him at the run. The moon shone out 
clear and cold, as his face to heaven, a smile on his lips, 
his body almost torn to pieces with grape-shot, with no 
struggle, no motion, lay Edward Mason. The General’s 
words had been prophetic — “ Farewell ! ” 

With the remainder of this bloody fight this story has 
nothing to do. Step by step the ground was won after the 
capture of the battery, only to be again retaken and to be 
again lost. General Brown was carried off, severely, and, 
as was then thought, mortally wounded. 

The American army fell back at last, leaving the bat- 


298 


SIBYL SPENCER. 


tery on the hill, keeping silent watch over the dying and 
the dead. 

It was towards morning, that a man could now be seen, 
his clothes drenched with the night’s dew, his face anxious 
and disturbed, moving rapidly from body to body, only 
stopping to bend over and examine carefully the face of 
each. It was our friend Eph., who, in the position of sut- 
ler which he had obtained, had been kept far in the rear of 
the army. The story which had spread among the staff 
of Edward’s death had driven him almost frantic, and he 
was now seeking, with the fidelity of his nature, to find the 
playmate of his boyhood. 

“Felt this morning,” he muttered to himself, “when I 
saw him get on that brute, he’d be in bad luck. Never 
knew a wall-eyed horse that didn’t bring bad luck. Broke 
his leg, I reckon. P’rhaps its only a sprain. How in 
thunder am I to get him back to camp ? Them fools are 
only thinking of them.selves ; and now the General’s down, 
there is no use in going to head-quarters. The new general 

would see me d d first before he gave me a detail, and 

then he wouldn’t. Thar he is now, by ” 

As he uttered this last exclamation he rushed forward, 
stumbling over the dead body of the brute he had been 
anathematizing, which lay half-hidden in the long grass. 
Yes, he had found Edward, and, with a half-hysterical 
laugh, he knelt by his side. 

“I am here, Ned ; ye didn’t think Eph. forget you, did 
ye ? Why don’t you answer? Are ye faint ? ” 

. He tried to tear open the closely-buttoned uniform ; his 
fingers stuck together with clotted blood as he held them 
up to the moonlight. 


Lundy’s lane. 


299 

“ My God ! he must be wounded ! He can’t be dead ! 
Oh, no, no ! Ned — dear Ned — ^you ain’t dead ? ” 

With hands that trembled so as to delay him by their 
very eagerness, he drew a small bottle from his pocket and 
endeavored to pour some of its contents down his friend’s 
throat. Even in this action, true to his nature, Eph. could 
not resist the half-serious, half-comic soliloquy which broke 
from his lips : 

“’Tis a little old Jamaica that I got last time I was to 
hum. There an’t no better to be had in the State. Takes 
the major to know what rum is. My God ! he don’t hear 
me ! He is dead ! dead ! dead ! ” and covering his face 
with his hands, he bent his body almost to the ground and 
rocked himself to and fro in agony. 

Eph. took no note of time. He knew not how long he 
cowered thus over the body of the being he loved best in 
the world. He could hardly be said to think ; at intervals 
he would moan out the words, “ Dead ! dead ! and I not 
by him when he fit the fight ! ” 

There were several groups moving on the hillside, some 
distance from where Edward lay. The tall grass shielded 
Eph. in his crouching posture from observation, and it was 
not until he actually leaned over him that a British soldier 
saw that one of the two was still living. The fellow had 
been one of the detail sent out to succor the wounded, but 
bent on plunder, had separated himself from his compan- 
ions, and was now furtively robbing indiscriminately friend 
and foe. 

After casting a hurried look around him, the soldier 
bent over Edward and felt for the valuables which might 
be on his person. The slight noise he made caused Eph. 


300 


SIBYL SPENCER. 


to look up; his quick mind took in the situation at a 
glance. With a bound he sprang to his feet and con- 
fronted the startled ruffian. 

True to his training and the bull-dog courage of his 
race, the man, with an oath, brought the musket he carried 
to the charge, and the point of the bayonet glistened within 
a foot of Eph.’s breast. 

The transitions of the passions in the human heart are 
instantaneous. Before him stood one of those who had 
killed the object of his adoration ; Eph.’s intense love be- 
came at once blind rage. 

“ Hellhound ! ” he cried, “ you’d rob the man you’ve 
murdered, would ye ? ” 

Had the soldier dared to fire, Eph.’s words would have 
been his last ; but not a hundred yards off he saw, coming 
through the faint moonlight, his officer and the party he 
had deserted on his plundering trip. This hesitation gave 
Eph. time to seize a musket, dropped by some wounded 
man, and similarly armed, the two savage men confronted 
each other ; between lay the dead body of Edward. With 
a half-stifled yell and curse, the two threw themselves 
forward, their weapons clashing and sparkling in the 
struggle. 

The ringing of the steel had aroused the party, now very 
close, and with a loud cry of “ Hold ! wretches, murderers, 
hold ! ” the officer in command rushed forward. It was 
too late. Without an effort at defence, the two men, as if 
by mutual consent, disengaged their arms, and the next 
instant they were buried to the hilt in each other’s body. 
For an instant they stood thus, each supporting the other ; 
then the knees of the English soldier gave way, every 


Lundy’s lane. 


301 

muscle relaxing, and, without a sound, the body slowly 
sank to the ground. 

Eph. had still strength to tear himself from the weapon 
and turn staggeringly towards the head of his friend. At 
this moment the British officer was by his side, snatching 
from the hand of the horrified sergeant who accompanied 
him the lantern he carried, Harcourt, for it was he, caught 
at Eph.’s arm to give him support. As he did so, the 
light fell full on the upturned face at his feet. He recog- 
nized him in an instant. Forgetting every thing, Harcourt 
threw himself on his knees, and tremblingly laid his hand 
on the cold forehead. 

“ Oh, God ! it can’t be so. Mason, my friend, my bro- 
ther, my saviour ! oh, no, it cannot be so ! ” 

Eph had slowly sunk to the ground, but had still force 
sufficient to drag himself to Harcourt’s side, 

“ He breathes. Cap. I say. Cap, he — breathes — don’t 
he?’» 

The gurgling blood burst from nose and mouth, as 
with a convulsive effort to tear off the cravat which choked 
his breathing, Ephraim Dodge lay dead. 

The strong soldiers drew their breath like men in pain. 
Harcourt had sprung to his feet ; and with clasped hands 
stood looking down on the bloody scene. 

The sergeant picked up the lantern his superior had 
dropped, and turning over the body of the soldier held the 
light to his face. 

“Phil Blake, as I thought,” the man muttered. “ He 
has saved himself from the triangles.” 

“ He died game, any how,” said one of the others, who 
had overheard the remark. 


302 


SIBYL SPENCER. 


Harcourt turned, and, followed by the party, walked 
silently and slowly towards the British lines. 

The next day a flag of truce brought into the lines the 
two bodies of Edward Mason and Ephraim Dodge. 

Some kind hand had covered the torn breast of Ed- 
ward with a rude chaplet of the sweetbriar rose. He sleeps 
peacefully on the bloody Canadian soil. 



CONCLUSION. 



The love where death has set its seal, 

Nor age can quell, nor rival steal, 

Nor falsehood disavow.” 

Byron. 

LMOST the first non-official act of General 
Brown, when he was sufficiently recovered to 
put pen to paper, was the letter in which he 
broke the sad news of Edward’s death to Sibyl. 
What passed in the interview between father and daughter 
when the letter came, was never known. Sibyl would sit 
for hours on a low seat by her father’s chair, her head 
resting on its arm, her hand closely locked in his, calm, 
silent, motionless. 

Poor Mrs. Spencer’s grief was violent and loud spoken. 
She found a friend, where she did not expect it, and that 
was in Lucy. The latter had, on the news of the crushing 
blow which had fallen on the family who had protected 
her in her sorrow, postponed her departure. Many letters 
had passed between Lucy and Harcourt. Noble, manly let- 
ters, which Lucy proudly read, as coming from her lover. 
He had retired from the army after the battle of Lundy’s 
Lane, and now only waited the declaration of peace, which 

(303) 



304 


SIBYL SPENCER. 


all knew was close at hand, to come to D and claim 

his early love. 

The charge of the 21st Reg. had been widely spread 
abroad, and none did more honor to the desperate courage 
of men and officers than the gallant enemy, whom for the 
time being, had been forced from their vantage ground. 

Edward had been seen and afterwards recognized by 
several officers, whose acquaintance he had made while 
prisoner at Quebec. 

Their stories had been gathered and transmitted by 
Harcourt to the family at D . 

Sibyl never spoke when his name was mentioned ; she 
eagerly read and re-read these brief accounts, but her si- 
lence was impenetrable. 

“ I do wish,” said Mrs. Spencer to Mr. Hamilton, one 
morning, “ that our Sibyl would act as any other girl of 
her age would do. There she sits, just like ‘ Niobe,’ the 
doctor was telling us about the other night. She wont 
talk, she don’t cry. I tell you it is clear against nature — 
it is not what the Holy Book says she ought to do.” 

“ My dear Mrs. Spencer, how can you say so ? To 
me, Sibyl never was so lovely as in her grief. She never 
obtrudes her woe. She ministers, as she always did, to 
the happiness of others. Self-devoted, self-forgetful, and 
oh, so lovely] ” 

“ That’s all very well for you, now. That is just the 
way the Doctor always does. But don’t the Bible say, 
that Rachael wept for her children and would not be com- 
forted because they were not ? Ah me, they were both 
children of mine. I loved one almost as much as the 
other, and if I did think sometimes, our Sibyl might have 


CONCLUSION. 305 

made a better match, it was not that I did not love Ed- 
ward as a son.” 

Mr. Hamilton’s face grew very white and he bit his 
lips, as he walked to the window to hide the emotion the 
simple-hearted woman had called up. As he stood look- 
ing into the deserted street, he was struck by the appear- 
ance of a stranger, who, after a moment’s hesitation, as- 
cended the stoop, and knocked at the front door. 

The negro boy, Sam, soon entered and announced, 
“ A strange gentleman to see Mr. Hamilton.” 

“ I trust, Sam, you showed the gentleman into the 
parlor, though there is no fire there after all. Just ask 
him to step in here, Sam. I will slip out, and you can 
bring in some cake and wine. I wouldn’t have a stranger 
and a friend of Mr. Hamilton think we had forgotten our 
manners, even if we have been smitten by the hand of 
the Lord.” 

Mr. Hamilton knew how hopeless was any attempt at 
interference in Mrs. Spencer’s hospitable intentions. She 
had scarcely left the room, when Sam introduced the 
stranger, a tall, handsome young man, with the bearing 
and carriage of a gentleman. 

“Mr. Hamilton,” he said, slightly bowing, “our cor- 
respondence has made you acquainted with the name of 
Harcourt.” 

“ Certainly, most certainly ; but is not your visit dan- 
gerous to you,” said the other ; “ you, an Englishman, and 
we at war ? ” 

“ Surely,” said the other, “ the news of peace has 
reached even this secluded village. Such is the fact, how- 
ever. I landed in New York yesterday, in the first vessel 

20 


3o6 


SIBYL SPENCER. 


from Halifax, and left it ablaze with bonfires at the glad 
news.” 

“ You bring glad tidings to a sad family, sir,” said Mr. 
Hamilton, extending his hand. “ But you are welcome, as 
the friend of one none knew but to love and praise.” 

“ I owed him more, sir, than a man cares to owe to 
another — life, honor, and liberty. I know not what strange 
presentiment induced me on that fatal night to take with 
me a detail, to search the battle-field. I can only say it 
was a foreboding of evil, the actuality of which has clouded 
my life for ever.” 

“You are young in years, my friend, to say such sad 
words. To you life is yet full of ventures, of happiness. 
Political life, military renown, woman’s love — ^all are yours, 
or may be yours. If I mistake not, I address myself to 
the Earl of ” 

Harcourt bowed. 

“If I may venture to ask the favor, however, I prefer to 
be known, the short time I am in this village, as plain 
Charles Harcourt. Mr. Hamilton ” — a slight color crossed 
his cheek as he spoke — “ there is in the house a lady — ^may 
I ask, will your permit — am I at liberty ” 

“ Sir, you confer a favor in ministering to the pleasure 
of any guest in this house. I will see that Mrs. Quincey is 
informed of your arrival. There is one thing, however, 
which you will forgive me for suggesting : namely, while 
you are in this village, you remain a close prisoner in this 
house.” 

Harcourt was about speaking, but the other went on 
without noticing him. 

“ I am right, I must insist on this. To this family you 


CONCLUSION. 


307 


have endeared yourself by acts of kindness never to be for- 
gotten. To the outside world you will for long years to 
come be an Englishman and an enemy.” 

“ But, surely, Mr. Hamilton, a war which was forced 
on us. Reprisals for acts of which you were the first to 
set an example.” 

“ All of which you may calmly say to me, and I will 
admit its force. But, Mr. Harcourt, England is victor. 
There is not a hearth-stone which is not desolate — there is 
not a church-yard which is not green with our best and 
dearest. You would only subject yourself to insult, and 
your friends, and you have friends, to pain and annoyance. 
You will confer this favor ? ” 

While this conversation was going on, Mrs. Spencer 
had entered Lucy’s room, whom she found alone. 

“ My dear,” said the old lady, seating herself rather 
out of breath, and bringing out her words spasmodically — 
“ My dear, there is now down' stairs a very handsome 
young man. I guess you have something to do with his 
visit. Ah me, I do not begrudge you the happiness, but 
why was not Sibyl happy, too ? ” 

“ Oh, Mrs. Spencer ! oh, my dear, dear Mrs. Spencer ! 
Can it be Charles ? ” 

“ I do not know,” said the old lady. “ I know it is 
not one of the village folk, nor is he an American. Just 
you run down. If you do not know him you have only to 
curtsey and come away. You are at home here.” 

But I am such a fright. Look how pale I am, and 
with this dress on. He always hated a black dress.” 

“All the better. Don’t you fret about your looks. 
Men never know what a woman has on, if she don’t keep 


3o8 


SIBYL SPENCER. 


them waiting. I do not believe the Doctor, now, could tell 
you if I had more than one dress in the world. There,” 
Mrs. Spencer had been fussing with Lucy’s costume as she 
spoke, and now gently pushed her to the door, “ I do hope 
you will be happy, my poor child I do j I have begun to 
love you like my own daughter.” 

As Mr. Hamilton opened the door to call Mrs. Quin- 
cey, he found her standing almost on its threshold. A 
bright light broke over Harcourt’s face as, holding out 
both hands, he could only exclaim : 

“Lucy!” 

Did she hesitate ? There was but a moment’s pause. 

^ Then, with a glad cry of “ Charles,” she sprang forward. 

Mr. Hamilton quietly drew the door shut behind him, 
and left the lovers to themselves. 

Some hours afterwards, the door was gently opened, 
and Sibyl entered. 

“ I need no introduction,” she said, “ to his friend — 
you saw him last. It was your hand which placed flowers 
on his breast. If for nothing else, God bless you for that 
kind deed 1 ” 

Harcourt’s manly nature gave way, and the tears. ran 
down his cheeks, as he took the hand of the broken-hearted 
girl in his own. 

“My own intense happiness has made me selfish. 
Sibyl — sister — let me be unto you all the word implies. 
Come with us — come with Lucy and me to England. Let 
a change of scene make you forget — a heart like yours 
never forgets — but ” 

“ Hush ! oh, hush ! I have duties here, which cannot 
be left— my father, my mother.” She placed her hand on 


CONCLUSION. 309 

I 

her heart as she spoke. “ It will be but for a few short 
months, perhaps weeks.” 

She laid her hand gently on his arm : 

“ I hear a voice you cannot hear, 

Which says I must not stay 
I see a hand you cannot see. 

Which beckons me away.”. 


THE END. 


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Washington Irving’s Works 


“ Tlie deliglit of cliildhood, tli© cliivalric companion of refined 
■womanhood, the solace of life at every period, his writings are an. 
imperishable legacy of grace and beauty to his countrymen.” 


Bracebridge Hall. 
Wolfert’s Roost. 
Sketch-Book. 
Traveler. 
Knickerbocker. 
Crayon Miscellany. 


Goldsmith. 
Alhambra. 
Columbus, 3 vols, 
Astoria. 
Bonneville. 
Mahomet, 2 vols. 


Granada. 

Salmagundi. 

Spanish Papers. 
Wasliington, 5 vols. 
Life and Letters, 3 
vols. 


The followijfcg editions of Irving are now issued. 


I. — The Knickerbocker Edition. Large 12mo, on super- 

fine laid paper, with Illustrations, elegantly printed 

and bound in extra cloth, gilt top. Per volume $2 50 

Complete in 27 vols 67 50 

Half calf 108 00 

II. — The Riverside Edition. 16mo, on fine white paper ; 

green crape cloth, gilt top, beveled edges. Per volume 1 75 

26 volumes 45 50 

Half calf 84 50 

The same “Belles Lettres Works,” 8 vols., attractively 
bound in cloth extra, $14.00 ; half calf or morocco ... 26 00 

III. — The People’s Edition. From the same stereotype 

plates as above, but printed on cheaper paper, neatly 

bound in cloth. Per volume 1 25 

26 volumes 32 50 

Half calf 71 50 


“ The Life and Letters,” condensed into three volumes, is included in 
these three editions. 

lY. — Sunnyside Edition. — Per volume 2 25 

28 vols., 12mo cloth 63 00 

Half calf 112 00 

The Life of George Wasliington. The new Mount Vernon 
Edition, giving the complete Work in two handsome 
octavo volumes, fully illustrated with steel plates. 

Cloth extra, in box, $7.00; half calf. 12 00 

' ■ — The one volume Popular Edition condensed, with 
plates ; for school and popular use. Large, 12mo, 
cloth extra, $2.50; half calf, extra 4 50 


G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS, Publishers, 

182 Fifth Avenue, New York, 





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